"Are you threatening me?" Linda asked Dylan, staring.

Dylan looked at his mother drunkenly: "Actually, this is just my declaration or request to you, but if you take it as a threat, I have no problem with it." Dylan hasn't said anything yet. After covering his mouth, he turned and ran to the bathroom.

Linda listened to the sound of her son's vomiting angrily and distressed, and the wine-red nails in her hands were almost embedded in the flesh. This is her precious son, this is the pride she has after enduring humiliation and suffering and experiencing everything, and it is the only existence she can find a sense of...