At this point in her story, the tears rolled down her cheeks in big, fat droplets. Her voice was hoarse, like an old clock that had been working for a long time.

She looked at Lincoln, who lay defeated in a pile like a soft, weak mess at the side. She remained calm and asked Lincoln coldly, "Lincoln Lynn, after so many years, my daughter is now almost thirty years old. I want to know, why do you hate her so much?"

Lincoln was speechless. "..."

At this moment, could he say he regretted his act