She knew her request was capricious, but the long-missed motherly love and her illness-induced weakness made her act like a true seven-year-old child, cloying to her mother.
"Alright, Mom will go ask the old lady for some rice," Zhao Xiaojuan said with a heartache for her daughter, although she was afraid of being scolded by her mother-in-law, she still knocked on the elderly couple's door.
Zhang Guihua saw that it was her, and with a stern face, asked, "What are you doing up in the middle of the night, not sleeping?"
"Mom, Zhaodi is weak, the doctor said to make something nutritious for her, I want to cook her some rice porridge," Zhao Xiaojuan said quietly, her face a mix of longing and nervousness.
Although the family always ate coarse grain meals, Zhao Xiaojuan knew that there was a big bag of rice locked in the kitchen cabinet.
She didn't want much, just a small bowl would be enough.