122 | Contrast of White and Black

Seventeen years ago.

Despite the bright fire in the fireplace, with several candelabras lit in every corner of the room, his mother continued to cough violently, so hard that her body seemed to slam against the bed.

At that moment, Jace felt utterly helpless. He felt like grabbing the medicines from the drawer, crushing them, and forcing his mother to drink them all. But it was impossible. His mother had already taken enough medicine, and her condition didn't improve. Jace began to suspect that the smoke from the fireplace was making his mother cough, but he wasn't sure. All he could do was sit leaning against his mother's bed, so as not to lose a single precious moment with her.

Suddenly, his mother's bony hand brushed Jace's hair. He immediately lifted his head carefully and gazed at his mother. She was too ill even to smile at him. But she still did it for Jace. "Where is your father?" she asked, her voice sounding more like a broken twig being stepped on.

"Dad is talking to the do