The middle-aged man clearly noticed the silhouette blocking the road ahead and, for a moment, his gaze was unfocused.
The distance of a few meters seemed to break the barriers of time; time stretched out infinitely long.
"Dad..."
Lucy Ansley rasped out, unable to utter a complete sentence.
Henry Ronan had never seen her emotions fluctuate so intensely, be it the former symptoms of emotional detachment or that night when she cried on his shoulder; nothing was as profoundly restrained yet intense as this moment.
Bittersweet, mixed emotions.
After a long while, the middle-aged man raised his right arm, placing his palm together in front of his chest, and offered a Buddhist salutation to several people, "You're here."
The tranquil words made it seem like they weren't blood relatives.
But if he had truly achieved spiritual peace and detachment, he wouldn't fail to call out "benefactress."
Lucy didn't dare step forward, fearing a clash, fearing rashness.
