Charlette’s P.O.V.
“Relax, love. I am okay.” Mom comforted me, and I scoffed.
I cut on her arm was deep, but she couldn’t go to the hospital.
She trained to tend these kinds of wounds from a very young age, and yet here I was.
Shedding tears and sniffing hard from time to time.
“It’s a part of our work, love, and compared to the other wounds in the past, I guess, this is nothing, right.” She continued nonchalantly, but it only made me feel worse.
“You are not a crime reporter, Mom. You are CEO of your media house. Then, why do you personally go to these assignments?” I asked her in a choked voice.
She didn’t answer immediately and the tightness in my chest increased.
“Am I still not old enough to know why you take so much risk on your life?” I asked her in a stiff voice, taking the
