"Isn’t it?" She raised her eyebrows slightly and looked at him.
Seeing his indifferent expression, she knew he was definitely not convinced, so she imdiately started educating him.
"Look, being a teacher ans more vacation ti, weekends off, and good benefits, too.
And teachers at their school get assigned housing, so kids live on campus from a young age.
Hmm... how should I put it, they grow up steeped in academia.
Plus, a crucial point: they have plenty of vacations, so when we have kids in the future, there’ll be more ti to spend with them.
I was raised entirely by my mom when I was a kid, and my impression of my dad is that he was just there to accompany us for als.
In summary, don’t you think marrying a teacher is a good idea? It’s even more comfortable than marrying a rich second-generation heir."
Henry Sullivan’s lips curled into a cold smile as he approached her: "So, there’re no advantages at all to marrying a soldier?"
"Hmm, now that I think about it, no, unless you want to treat our kids the way my dad treated ..." She shivered: "A tragic life indeed."
"What did your father do to you?" he asked with folded arms. This little girl still hadn’t realized he was angry, huh? Very well.
"My dad, tsk, I don’t even want to ntion him.
When I was a kid, about five or six years old, I vaguely rember being in kindergarten.
Sotis my mom would co ho late from privately tutoring students, and then my dad would have to take care of .
So, every ti, my dad would draw a circle behind the door for , give a small stool and so snacks, and make sit obediently inside, not allowed to leave.
I could eat and drink inside the circle, but wasn’t allowed to talk without reporting first.
Even going to the bathroom required a report.
Crying was also not allowed; if I cried, I’d be locked in a room for twenty minutes.
And my dad was especially annoying, never letting watch cartoons, always watching shows about fighting invaders.
You know, for a five or six-year-old, sitting obediently without cartoons is like torture.
Also, my dad was really an; every ti soone in the courtyard praised saying, ’Wow, our little Ivy is getting prettier.’
My dad would sternly tell them, ’Pretty what? Not as good-looking as a boy.’
Tell , would a real father sabotage his daughter like that?
Every ti he said that, I’d cry until I was out of breath.
Which kid at that age wouldn’t want to be told they’re pretty?
In short, my dad never understood , just not at all.
I don’t even rember him telling a story once, anyway he was just not qualified."
Talking about her own dad, Ivy Miller was full of complaints.
"I’ve concluded, having a dad in the military is totally unreliable.
I must have been crazy that day to marry you.
If I’d known better, I should’ve checked out more about you before marrying."
"Poor you?"
At this point, Ivy Miller realized that the distance between them was almost gone.
She stamred: "Why are you getting so close?"
"I want to comfort your wounded heart in a military way."
Ivy Miller looked at him suspiciously, quickly sidestepping around the coffee table to avoid him: "Who’s wounded?
I grew up under the red flag and in the sunlight, where would so much sadness co from?
Weren’t you going to take out for a walk? Let’s go."
Watching her open the door and leave as if fleeing, Henry Sullivan smiled slightly. Knowing how to be scared, not bad.
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