Chapter 556: At Home, Dad Doesn’t Hug Me
As soon as Joe Heath left, Chale Cheney unabashedly monopolized Jasmine Yale.
Elder Cheney definitely doesn’t know that he has taken Jasmine Yale, hmm.
Jasy is his now, Elder Cheney can’t take her away.
His little hand held around Jasmine Yale’s neck, refusing to let go.
“Jasy, I missed you so much. Why didn’t you pay attention to me…during that time…and then you went abroad…”
Chale Cheney chattered on and on to Jasmine.
“I didn’t want to disturb your studies. Jasy was busy at work at that time, very busy. I’m sorry, Little Chale.”
“It’s okay, Jasy. I love you. Whatever you do is right. Hmm…” Chale Cheney laughed.
His little face was pressed against Jasmine Yale’s neck.
The hot breath made Jasmine Yale itch.
Jasmine also laughed, hugging him tighter.
There was always a faint trace of unerasable pain in her eyes, like shattered ice.
“It’s late, Little Chale. How about going to sleep?” Jasmine coaxed.
“Okay.” The little guy nodded, “Finally, someone will hold me while I sleep. At home, daddy doesn’t hold me.”
“Boys need to be independent.”
“My dad is also very fierce.”
“He is doing it for your own good.”
“Jasy, you’re not siding with me…whimpering…” Chale Cheney rubbed his eyes, “Why won’t you join me in badmouthing Elder Cheney?”
Jasmine’s heart skipped a beat.
She gently patted the little guy on his back: “Sleep, good night.”
Chale Cheney closed his eyes.
He sort of missed Elder Cheney.
What was Elder Cheney doing? He hadn’t called him for several days now.
He had so many things to tell Elder Cheney.
Even though Elder Cheney was domineering, he was very, very good.
Chale Cheney smacked his lips and fell asleep.
His small hand clung to Jasmine Yale like an octopus, warming Jasmine’s heart unexpectedly.
The little guy was so young, he didn’t understand what separation meant.
Jasmine closed her eyes, a sour and aching feeling spreading through her body. Each cell seemed to have stopped beating.
It was deep into the night, the north wind howled.
The windows were creaking from the wind.
The moonlight was hazy, casting shadows that wavered and flowed.
“Jasy, why don’t you cover yourself properly with the blanket when you sleep? Hmm?”
Suddenly, Jasmine jolted, her eyelids trembling slightly.
The light was on, but there was nothing in front of her.
The familiar voice seemed to come from heaven, so clear, yet so distant.
With its familiar depth, restraint, and richness.
Part of her arm was out in the cold.
She pulled up the blanket, covering herself.
She needed to take care of herself, and also take care of Little Chale.
The next day, Jasmine was awakened by the aroma of rice porridge.
She opened her eyes, and Chale Cheney was no longer in her arms.
“Little Chale, Little Chale…” she called.
Chale Cheney had already dressed, brushed his teeth, washed his face, and was sitting quietly on the sofa.
Joe Heath was sitting next to him, accompanying him to read a comic book.
Jasmine smiled, “Everyone’s up, I’m the laziest.”
“Are you feeling better?” Joe Heath asked.
Jasmine touched her forehead: “I’m fine, the fever is gone, sorry for making you worry.”
“Come and have some porridge. There are several kinds here, all of which I cooked early this morning. Little Chale had some and said it was delicious.”
Jasmine jumped out of bed.
She saw Chale Cheney reading comics with Joe Heath, very quiet, very harmonious.
“Little Chale Cheney, did the little fox Uncle gave you grow up?”
“You mean Ali? Fatso? Yes, he’s grown big.”