I stared at him in disbelief. "Clinton, you're a graduate of a top university, and you're really going to spew this nonsense to defend her?"
The murmurs of the crowd turned to outright criticism. "This is too much," someone whispered, "and the mother didn't even consent?"
"Bone marrow extraction on a six-year-old? That's insane!" another voice chimed in.
Clinton's face flushed with embarrassment. Before he could say anything more, Emerald suddenly dropped to her knees with a dramatic thud. The gasps from the crowd were almost audible.
"Emerald, stop!" Clinton tried to help her up, but she gently pushed him aside, her tears falling perfectly in front of everyone.
"Celestine, I'm sorry," she sobbed, her voice trembling. "It's all my fault. I was just so worried about my son, so eager to fulfill my responsibility as a mother."
Her disheveled appearance and tearful eyes were a perfect act meant to elicit sympathy from the crowd. But I saw through her lies.
"Please," she begged, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'm begging you, Celestine. Save my son."
Her actions left everyone around us in stunned silence.