Charlotte Smith stood at the door, watching as the old man hurriedly pushed the wheelchair away, gradually withdrawing her gaze.
George Stephens sat on the bed, the joy from earlier lost, his large eyes filled with loneliness as he looked at Charlotte.
Charlotte walked over and gently hugged him.
George buried his face in her embrace and quietly asked, "Am I not Mom's child?"
He didn't understand why Charlotte's grandmother would say "He is a descendant of the Stephens family" when the other half of his blood wasn't from the Smith family?
Charlotte shook her head, her voice soft: "No, that's not true. George is Mom's child."
George asked again, "Then today, can't I stay here?"
Charlotte fell into a slight silence.
"I promise I won't do anything, I'll just sleep obediently."
"..."
"Mom."
Charlotte pressed her lips together, lifted George from the bed, and picked up the bag of snacks that George had personally selected.
