Xu Su held Zhao Yanran's hand. If eyes could kill, Song Ling would have died countless times by now.
At this time, in the ward.
A little woman soaked in sweat lay quietly in the quilt, her eyes with long eyelashes closed tightly. The nurse carefully applied a cotton swab soaked in water to her lips. Her lips were soft, delicate and beautiful.
Next to her in the small hospital bed, a baby was swaddled.
The baby's skin was wrinkled and not stretched, his eyes were not open, and his delicate arms were stretched out and moving. The thin blanket could hardly cover this naughty little boy. He cried occasionally and was very active.
The air conditioner was on in the ward, and the temperature was just right, warm and tight.
Song Ling walked over, slowly lowered his head, and tried to kiss her forehead. But he was afraid of disturbing her rest, so he could only stand up straight.
After entering the ward, he started the warm good man mode, even his eyes were gentle and distressed. He would never forget what he had just experienced at the door of the delivery room.
She was inside, he was outside. There was a wall between them, but he felt like there was a mountain between them. The feeling of being unable to see or touch, only able to watch, was too painful.
She was in hysterics due to the pain, and his heart was broken into pieces. Her body was in pain, and he was in mental torture.
The birth process was like going through centuries of suffering.
Her frequent heart-wrenching cries made him so distressed that he wished he could bear it all in her place.
Just like that, he gazed at the tired and weak little woman affectionately, and felt a clear sense of cherishment in his heart.
His big hand carefully held the woman's small hand in his palm. The feeling of wanting to kiss her but not having the heart to disturb her made him look like a fool.
Finally, the little woman under the quilt moved slightly, and her fan-shaped eyelashes flickered a few times.
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