"Audrey, are you crazy? Why are you raising biting filthy mice? Weren't you the one who used to hate them the most?" Jeff stared at me in shock and suddenly flipped the table.
Then he pulled me into his arms. The white mice fell to the ground.
I struggled out of his embrace without hesitation, picked the mice back up and cradled them in my hands, smiling sideways at him, "Squeak! Squeak!"
Jeff was stunned, his face full of disbelief. He didn't know that every week I had to feed a nest of mice with my own blood for the lab to observe.
Over time, I had come to see them as family. When they died, I would cry. After all, in that dark and endless place, only the mice accompanied me, testing drugs alongside me.
"Jeff, Audrey …" At that moment, my parents walked into the restaurant. When they saw me holding the mice, my hands covered in blood, they were shocked, "Audrey, why are you holding those mice? That's disgusting! Throw them away!"
"No one's watching you abroad and you've gone crazy, huh? What kind of twisted hobby did you learn, actually liking filthy mice?" They shouted loudly, their eyes full of disgust and contempt.