Hearing her mother’s cold words, Chiang Qing felt a mix of emotions and couldn’t help but retort, "Mom, don’t you and Dad have a good relationship? After you married Dad, you had me and Xiao Tian without ever fighting before. Now, just because you’ve had a little spat with Dad, how has it become such a big deal? Just ask yourself, all these years you’ve been married to Dad, have you ever regretted it?"
Listen to how she speaks—it’s as if she’s still siding with that poor boy!
Lu Shufen was so angry that her body trembled, and, pointing at her, she was unable to utter a single word.
Who said she hadn’t regretted it? She thought she had married for love, but seeing other people’s glances made her feel particularly unusual, as if they were implying she was a thief who stole someone else’s husband.
During that time, she was especially miserable, barely daring to meet anyone, let alone look them in the eye. It took her a long time before she gradually put it behind her.
If she had married a man with a clear conscience, she would not have had to endure those looks and moral condemnation.
It was precisely because of this that the appearance of Jiang Dafang now infuriated her. His presence meant she had to relive those days when she couldn’t hold her head up high.
Because of his presence, she was reminded that she was a thief who stole someone else’s husband.
Because of his presence, the façade of morality ensnared her like a giant spider web, tightening until she could barely breathe.
This was the reason for her anger—not because of any so-called specialty; Jiang Dafang was like a bone spur lodged in her flesh, painfully and irritatingly stuck.

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