"Ouch, Mum," I flinched as she dabbed the wet cotton on my bruise. It hurts but I was too grown to wince out loud like a baby. So I held the pain.
We were in the living room now, and my leg was on the table, and Mum was going over and over on the bruise.
"I don't understand why he would wanna run you over. What kind of a sick, minded guy is he?!" She rambled angrily, blowing on my bruise. Then she went back to clean it again.
It would be silly of me to think she was overreacting. But Mum would always make a big deal of everything that had to do with me.
She was too protective and sometimes, it made me very uncomfortable. It's kinda smoldering and I hate being caged. So I don't always appreciate her excessive protection.
Today, however, I can't say how grateful I am to have her he
