A divorced woman with a four-year-old son is a mess.
A lonely 15-year-old genius boy comes to her house every day, and her guardian stalks her to find out the truth about the car accident.
She didn't want to get involved, she just couldn't let go of the child.
Tearing during the day, oily smoke at night, and heartbeat in the gaps.
But when someone started to pick the lock on her door, it was too late.
It doesn't matter, it won't affect her making money.
This article is a slow-cooked story: the top note is the coldness of reality, the middle note is the game of human nature, and the last note is the residual warmth of love. Please give this story a pot of tea.
