Amanda Smith also regained her composure, smiled at her, and nodded: "Okay. I'm going home now."
Samuel Johnson straightened up and walked towards the door.
Amanda followed him.
Samuel didn't walk fast, and Amanda followed behind him. It was this short distance, one in front of the other, that Amanda had never crossed in her life. Often, she would trail behind him, holding bags and providing shade for his girlfriends. When she wasn't needed, she watched him from just this distance.
She had watched his back for fifteen years; he had never stopped to wait for her. She made every effort to catch up, only to be greeted with his humiliating words—eventually, she dared not approach anymore.
Samuel got into the car first, then turned his head to look at Amanda.
The night had grown deep, and the streets were thinly populated, making Amanda's figure appear overly fragile in the darkness.
As if a light breeze could scatter her away.