Chapter 172
The call connected quickly. I briefly explained the difficulties my mom's company was currently facing.
Investors being poached, projects stalled, possibly even facing transformation or sale.
William listened quietly on the other end without asking too many questions. He just analyzed calmly and rationally, "Grace, if the tourism route really isn't working out, maybe you should consider pivoting in time. The market changes fast these days, and some emerging fields have great potential."
He paused, then added, "I can help you keep an eye out for some promising project directions. You can look into them first, and if there's something suitable down the line, Star Tech could consider partnering."
"Thank you, William. I really appreciate this." A wave of warmth rose in my heart.
At times like these, any help and support without ulterior motives was incredibly precious.
Not long after hanging up, William's email arrived.
I opened it to find several organized documents inside.
One project introduction about medical device supply chains caught my attention.
The materials detailed the current medical device market's demands and pain points, especially how small and medium-sized hospitals and clinics faced issues with equipment procurement, warehousing, and delivery—inefficiency and lack of cost transparency. If we could build an efficient, transparent, and reliable regional medical device warehousing and distribution platform, it could be a great opportunity.
William also included some preliminary ideas in the email.
If we could develop a matching intelligent warehouse management system and delivery scheduling program, it would greatly improve efficiency and credibility.
And if my mom's company could successfully transform, its existing warehousing resources and partial logistics foundation could become the physical backbone of this platform.
This was indeed a clear-thinking transformation direction with good prospects.
Once established, the profit channels and stability would be much better than a small tourism company.
But the challenges were obvious too. The medical device industry had high barriers to entry and strict qualification requirements. We'd need to find reliable and capable partners to provide supply sources and qualification endorsements—not an easy task.
After thinking for a moment, I opened my contacts and found a few investors I'd worked with before who had a good impression of my abilities and character. I carefully worded messages to them, briefly mentioning this medical device supply chain platform idea and tactfully asking if there might be possibilities for cooperation or introductions.
The messages went out like stones dropped in the sea—no response for now.
I knew this couldn't be rushed. I needed to wait patiently for the right opportunity.
The next morning, I prepared to take Milly to kindergarten as usual.
I organized her little backpack, changed her into her cute school uniform, and took her small hand to head out.
"Mommy," Milly stood still, looking up at me with her little face, her voice soft, "can I take a day off today? I want to go with you to the hospital to see Grandma."
I froze for a moment, then crouched down to look into her eyes.
Milly was a very sensible child. She knew I was busy with work and taking care of Mom, so she never arrived late or left early from kindergarten, and rarely asked for time off.
Besides, Mom's condition had stabilized, and Milly had comforted her via video call last night. By all accounts, she shouldn't be so insistent on taking a day off.
More importantly, in those clear big eyes of hers, I saw a hint of evasion—not simple worry, but an evasion tinged with anxiety and fear.
"Milly, what's wrong?" I softened my voice, holding her small hand, "Tell Mommy, why don't you want to go to kindergarten? Did something happen?"
Milly lowered her head, looking at her toes, her little hands unconsciously tugging at her skirt hem, but she didn't speak.
A warning bell rang in my heart.
Milly understood the weight of things. If it wasn't for a special reason, she wouldn't act this way.
And when I bathed her last night, I'd checked carefully—there were no injuries on her body, ruling out the possibility of being physically bullied.
Could something have happened at kindergarten that scared her but was too difficult to talk about?
I immediately took out my phone and called Echo at the hospital, telling her I'd be there later today.
Then I crouched in front of Milly again, gently cupping her little face with both hands, making her eyes meet mine.
"Milly," my voice was incredibly gentle but also incredibly serious, "if you don't want to talk about it now, that's okay. Mommy won't force you. But Mommy is very worried about you. If you don't want to go to kindergarten alone, Mommy can go with you. I'll wait outside the kindergarten for you, or I can go in with you and we can observe quietly to see what's making my little baby unhappy, okay?"
Milly kept her head down without speaking. I waited patiently, then suddenly thought of someone.
Jack.
That child who, under George and Sarah's influence, had become full of lies and extremely aggressive.
I thought he might have brought some toy that could hurt people to kindergarten, or used even worse methods to threaten Milly, making her so scared she didn't dare tell me directly.
So, with my suspicions, I prepared to take her in and find an opportunity to ask the teacher or principal about the situation.
As we went in, I observed carefully.
Usually, as soon as Milly entered the kindergarten gate, several close female classmates would run over bouncing and jumping, affectionately holding her hand, chattering away, and walking into the classroom together.
But today, those familiar little figures saw Milly from afar and, as if seeing something they shouldn't approach, hesitated in their steps, exchanged a glance with each other, then silently turned their heads away and kept their distance.
Milly felt it too.
Her small body visibly stiffened, and her head drooped lower.
There was definitely something fishy here, and it was directed at Milly with ill intent.
After Milly went in, I went straight to the principal's office.
When the principal saw me, she didn't seem surprised, just showed a hint of difficulty and embarrassment on her face.
"Ms. Brown, you're here." She invited me to sit down and sighed, "About this matter, we were actually planning to intervene, but Milly is very sensible and has her own ideas. She clearly told the teacher that this was her own business and she could handle it herself. She also said that when she figured it out, she would go home and tell you. So we... we temporarily didn't contact you proactively. This is indeed an oversight in our work, and we are responsible."
Handle it herself?
My Milly was only just over five years old. How could she handle being isolated and excluded by her peers on her own?
I furrowed my brow and asked directly, "What exactly happened? Please tell me."
The principal stood up, her face showing an expression of wanting to speak but hesitating.
"Ms. Brown, please come with me." She indicated for me to put on a spare mask from the nearby rack, "Let's look at the situation first."
My heart sank. I put on the mask as instructed and followed the principal out of the office.
She didn't take me to the classroom, but led me around to an observation window on the side of the children's activity room.
This window was cleverly designed, with a one-way curtain hanging inside. From outside, you could clearly see what was happening in the activity room, but the children inside couldn't see out.
It was currently free activity time during recess.
The children were in small groups—some playing house, some building with blocks, others looking at picture books.
My eyes quickly locked onto Milly.
She was alone, standing beside the pile of colorful wooden blocks.
Usually, this was her kingdom. She could build amazing castles with those blocks that attracted many playmates to gather around her.
But today, those blocks lay scattered, ignored.
Milly just stood there quietly, her little head slightly bowed, looking at her toes.
The cheerful laughter and noise around her seemed unrelated to her. She was like someone abandoned and forgotten.
I clearly saw several little girls who usually played well with Milly steal a few glances in her direction, their eyes showing hesitation, but ultimately they turned their heads and joined other play circles.
My heart felt like it was being pricked by needles—painful and angry.
I lowered my voice and asked the principal beside me, "Is my Milly being bullied?"