The Farming Saint in the Starry Wasteland (Elizabeth Schofield) novel Chapter 469

Chapter 469 A Boy Who Forgut Laughter

Chapter 469 A Boy Who Forgot Laughter

Enola’s eyes lit up in an instant.

“Really?”

“Just a tiny bit,” the woman said. “It might just be in my head…”

Enola didn’t care whether it was in her head or not.

She pressed another strawberry to her mother’s lips.

“Mom, have a few more! Try it again!”

The woman opened her mouth without thinking and ate another one.

This time, she paid careful attention.

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After she swallowed the strawberry, a warm sensation slowly rose from her stomach, light and gentle, like sunshine settling onto her skin.

That warmth crept upward bit by bit, traveling to her brain, to that spot where the dull ache had been gnawing at her…

And the pain dulled a little more.

The woman’s eyes went wide.

“It’s true…” she murmured. “It really does work…”

Enola’s eyes welled up.

She picked up another, and another, and another.

After three strawberries, the woman waved her off in a hurry. “That’s enough, that’s enough. I can’t have any more. Something this special, save it for you girls.”

Enola didn’t listen and held out another one.

“Mom, have more. As long as they help you feel better, eat as many as you want.”

The woman looked at Enola and the tears came again.

She accepted the strawberry and ate it in tiny, careful bites, savoring every one, afraid to swallow too fast.

Eileen watched from the side, her little face lit up with wonder and hope.

But she didn’t eat any more strawberries.

She set down the one Enola had pressed into her hand.

“Eileen?” Enola looked at her. “Why aren’t you eating?”

Eileen shook her head and said seriously, “Save them for Mom. They’re good for Mom’s illness. I’m not having any more.

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Chapter 469 A Boy Who Forgut Laughter

As she spoke, she glanced at the strawberries in the carton and swallowed hard.

“I already know what they taste like That’s enough”

Enola looked at her sister, her throat closing up.

She crouched down and pulled Eileen into her arms.

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“Eileen,” she said softly, “things are going to get better for our family. From now on, however many strawberries you want, I’ll buy them for you.”

In her arms, Eileen gave a small nod.

But she didn’t say what she was really thinking, which was the reason she still didn’t want to eat them.

She wanted to save all the good food for her mother, so her mother could get better.

Leaning against the headboard, the woman watched her two daughters holding each other, and the tears wouldn’t stop falling.

In the Old North District, Sycamore Alley was tucked away behind rows of high–rises, like a forgotten scar on the city.

The pavement was full of cracks and potholes, with weathered apartment buildings lining both sides, their paint flaking off to reveal patches of mottled gray brick.

Power lines crisscrossed overhead like a worn–out net.

Roger lived in the building at the very end of the alley.

He carried two big bags up the creaky stairs to the fourth floor/

Before he even reached the door, he could hear the sound of children laughing and roughhousing inside.

He paused.

Had his son Tommy invited friends over after school today?

He gently pushed the door open, and a wave of warmth hit him in the face.

It was much warmer inside than out, but that warmth wasn’t from the heater. It was the body heat of a few kids running around and playing.

Their family certainly couldn’t afford to burn expensive energy stones just to keep the heat on.

“Tommy, you lost! Now you’re it!”

“No way, no way, that didn’t count, I wasn’t ready!”

“You’re cheating! Tommy’s a cheater!”

Three boys, somewhere between eight and nine years old, were crammed into the tiny living room, in the middle of a wild game.

Tommy stood in the middle, his two friends pressing down on his shoulders, his cheeks flushed pink, his eyes shining with

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Chapter 469 A Boy Who Forgut Laughter

Haughter.

Roger stood in the doorway, suddenly feeling a little dazed.

He hadn’t seen his son laugh like this in a long time.

The boy had been mature from a young age, almost painfully so.

He knew his father worked hard and never asked for anything.

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