Tang Yige left the intensive care unit and at the hospital entrance, she bumped into Tang Yuwen.
After a few days, Tang Yuwen seemed thinner, his back was hunched, looking more like a seventy or eighty-year-old rather than a fifty or sixty-year-old.
He was carrying a white plastic bag, in it was a fast-food meal box, his hair gray, face aged.
This scene.
Tang Yige couldn't help but feel a pang of compassion.
No matter how badly Tang Yuwen treated her, how domineering and wicked he was, he was, after all, her biological father.
As long as she remembered the little kindness he showed her during her childhood, Tang Yige found herself unable to ignore him.
Tang Yige grasped her hand, walked to the spot where she stood, facing Tang Yuwen, who was staring at her with an unfamiliar look.
"I know there's a nice Chinese restaurant near the hospital, let me take you there for a meal." Tang Yige glanced at the meal box in his hand and said softly.
