"Isn’t it?" She raised her eyebrows slightly and looked at him.
Seeing his indifferent expression, she knew he was definitely not convinced, so she immediately started educating him.
"Look, being a teacher means more vacation time, weekends off, and good benefits, too.
And teachers at their school get assigned housing, so kids live on campus from a young age.
Hmm... how should I put it, they grow up steeped in academia.
Plus, a crucial point: they have plenty of vacations, so when we have kids in the future, there’ll be more time to spend with them.
I was raised entirely by my mom when I was a kid, and my impression of my dad is that he was just there to accompany us for meals.
In summary, don’t you think marrying a teacher is a good idea? It’s even more comfortable than marrying a rich second-generation heir."
Henry Sullivan’s lips curled into a cold smile as he approached her: "So, there’re no advantages at all to marrying a soldier?"
"Hmm, now that I think about it, no, unless you want to treat our kids the way my dad treated me..." She shivered: "A tragic life indeed."
"What did your father do to you?" he asked with folded arms. This little girl still hadn’t realized he was angry, huh? Very well.
"My dad, tsk, I don’t even want to mention him.
When I was a kid, about five or six years old, I vaguely remember being in kindergarten.
Sometimes my mom would come home late from privately tutoring students, and then my dad would have to take care of me.
So, every time, my dad would draw a circle behind the door for me, give me a small stool and some snacks, and make me sit obediently inside, not allowed to leave.
I could eat and drink inside the circle, but wasn’t allowed to talk without reporting first.
Even going to the bathroom required a report. Newest update provided by N0veI.Fiɾe.net
Crying was also not allowed; if I cried, I’d be locked in a room for twenty minutes.
And my dad was especially annoying, never letting me watch cartoons, always watching shows about fighting invaders.
You know, for a five or six-year-old, sitting obediently without cartoons is like torture.
Also, my dad was really mean; every time someone in the courtyard praised me saying, ’Wow, our little Ivy is getting prettier.’
My dad would sternly tell them, ’Pretty what? Not as good-looking as a boy.’
Tell me, would a real father sabotage his daughter like that?
Every time he said that, I’d cry until I was out of breath.
Which kid at that age wouldn’t want to be told they’re pretty?
In short, my dad never understood me, just not at all.
I don’t even remember him telling me a story once, anyway he was just not qualified."
Talking about her own dad, Ivy Miller was full of complaints.
"I’ve concluded, having a dad in the military is totally unreliable.
I must have been crazy that day to marry you.
If I’d known better, I should’ve checked out more about you before marrying."
At this point, Ivy Miller realized that the distance between them was almost gone.
She stammered: "Why are you getting so close?"
"I want to comfort your wounded heart in a military way."
Ivy Miller looked at him suspiciously, quickly sidestepping around the coffee table to avoid him: "Who’s wounded?
I grew up under the red flag and in the sunlight, where would so much sadness come from?
Weren’t you going to take me out for a walk? Let’s go."
Watching her open the door and leave as if fleeing, Henry Sullivan smiled slightly. Knowing how to be scared, not bad.