The door of the ward was pushed open vigorously and my parents rushed in and hugged Martina into their arms.
The broken pieces of the kettle splashed onto Martina's feet, leaving several bloody marks.
The wound was not serious and there was no hot water in the kettle.
But the look in my father's eyes when he looked at me was still very angry.
“Lindsey! Martina came to see you out of kindness, why did you hit her? You cannot take your misfortune out on her.
“If anything happens to her, don't blame me for not recognizing you as our daughter anymore!”
My mother looked at Martina, who seemed to be frightened, nervously as she scolded me, “Lindsey, how can you be so narrow-minded? I am so disappointed!”
Both of them quickly took Martina away and went to find a doctor to treat her wounds.
They did not look back at me again.
If they had taken a closer look, they would have known that with my body fixed in a brace and not yet fully recovered, there was no way I had the strength to pick up a kettle.
Those words of treating everyone equally were what they said to themselves, to deceive themselves and make their conscience feel better.
But, none of this really mattered anymore.