My mother screamed, rushed over and quickly shielded me and the wheelchair with her own body.
The wheel scraped her hand and blood gushed out of it, leaving a deep gash that nearly exposed the bone.
Ignoring the pain, she steadied me before turning to Dad, still shaken and roared furiously, "Liam! You almost hurt your daughter!"
Dada glared at me. "Why are you so worked up? She's paralyzed and can't even feel any pain.”
“Dammit! All that fine liquor wasted because of her!” Cursing under his breath, he stumbled back into his room to continue drinking.
Though still shaken and her hand was in pain, Mom checked me up and down first to make sure I was okay. Only after confirming I was fine did she begin to inspect the kicked wheelchair.
When she found that one of the fasteners had loosened, she immediately fetched the toolbox and carefully tightened it—bit by bit—until late at night.
Meanwhile, in the livestream chat, comments kept pouring in.
[I'm crying so hard! Where can I find such a good mother? Even though her hand was badly injured, all she worried about was her daughter.]