"Amara! That's completely uncalled for. I'm only trying to help," Janice huffed, eyes wide with fake shock. "If Mom weren't so concerned about your postpartum recovery, I wouldn't have even bothered to come visit."
I almost rolled my eyes.
Even under the hospital-grade disinfectant on her clothes, I could still catch that faint scent of fresh and metallic blood clinging to her. Aunt Clara had been right. Janice was downstairs in the OR earlier today, delivering babies.
So she had come up here with blood on her hands and venom on her tongue.
"You little bitch!" my mother-in-law exploded, voice shaking the walls. "You dare insult my precious daughter? Just because you popped out a boy, you think you're above everyone now? Don't think I won't tell Paul to divorce you!"
I froze.
Divorce?
Honestly, that sounded like a relief.
In my past life, I had begged and prayed for that day to come, but I knew better now. These people weren't going to let me go, not until they'd sucked every drop of use out of me and take my son with me. But no, that was never going to be an option.