Curious stares followed me as I carried Tamara down the hospital corridor. I could feel the eyes of other patients' families on me, watching the scene unfold, but I ignored them.
"What are you doing?" Clinton stormed in, his voice harsh. Emerald's pitiful expression quickly took over as she softly intervened, "Clinton, don't blame Celestine. She just spoils Tamara too much." She sighed dramatically, glancing at me. "Unfortunately, I can't perform the surgery now—my scrubs got contaminated."
Clinton turned to me with fury. "Put Tamara down! Emerald is a doctor—she knows better than you how to take care of her!"
He lunged forward, trying to take Tamara from my arms, but I stepped back, dodging him. Memories from my past life flashed before me—the moment Emerald took Tamara for surgery, the bone marrow transplant, and my daughter's death on that same operating table. And Clinton… he had stood by, believing Emerald's every word. My heart ached.
How could I ever trust either of them with my child again?