Their son, although only six years old, was quite chubby, making it difficult for her, a frail woman, to carry him.
Upon hearing this, Sherry glanced down at the small hand clinging tightly to her clothes, then shook her head.
"I'll carry him instead. Mr. Shaw, you don't mind, do you?" she asked, looking up at him.
As her words fell, Yancy Shaw was stunned.
When she was holding their child, yet still felt the need to ask if he minded... his heart suddenly ached with bitterness.
"Of course not!" A moment later, he managed a bitter smile and replied.
His eyes were filled with sorrow...
...
Not long after, the two of them, with the sleeping little one in tow, arrived at a small inn.
The inn was small, privately run, just a modest two-story building.
However, as the two of them entered, the owner warmly greeted them.
"Excuse me, do you have any rooms available?" Yancy Shaw walked in and asked politely.
