Her mother had blamed her too.
Monster, sinner.
Words like these, even coming from her mother's lips, still carried a hint of tenderness.
But tenderness was bone-chillingly cold, each instance piercing into her heart.
At first, she would cry, crying and wanting to cling to her mother's legs. She was really scared, scared of her mother's distressed and crazed demeanor.
But her mother would only push her away with disgust, then cry and tell her to go find that man.
Later on, she learned to behave.
She neither cried nor made a fuss, just stood quietly, waiting for her mother to calm down.
So she thought, perhaps her mother didn't like her either.
"Arnold Simmons, do you like me?" She circled back to that difficult question she had asked many times.
Arnold Simmons smiled, patiently and seriously answering her, "I like you, very much."
"How long will you like me?" She blinked, her hands clinging to Arnold Simmons's arm, like a cat wagging its tail.
