Inside, Jackson's calm, detached voice gave the final order.
"It's fine," he said. "Use the medicine."
That single sentence shattered the last fragment of love Helena still clung to.
On what right—what right—did he have to decide the life or death of her child? To strip her so casually of her right to be a mother?
Rage and grief flooded her veins, drowning all reason.
Bang!
The door flew open. Helena stormed in and, without hesitation, struck Jackson across the face with all her strength.
The sharp crack echoed through the room. His head snapped to the side, and five crimson fingerprints bloomed across his cheek.
Her voice trembled, raw with fury.
"Jackson! What gives you the right?"
Her eyes blazed through a haze of tears. "On what basis do you take away my right to bear children?"
For a moment, Jackson froze. Her hatred hit him harder than the slap itself, cutting through his chest like glass.
"I did it for your own good," he said quietly.
Helena let out a broken laugh—cold, hollow.
"For my own good?" She enunciated each word, her tone icy and sharp. "Jackson... I can't afford your kindness."
Without another glance, she turned and walked out, leaving him standing there in silence.