He grabbed my wrist and wrenched me off the bed.
"Elaine Harding, how long are you going to keep up this act?"
"I've seen your medical report. Every single indicator came back normal. It's just a little blood draw. How much could it possibly hurt? Stop pretending to be fragile."
I collapsed face-down on the floor, too weak to even push myself up.
He'd seen my medical report — but he didn't know that every cell in my body had been destroyed.
The doctors had told me all my organs were failing.
Forget drawing blood. A common cold could kill me now.
I tried to explain, but a metallic sweetness flooded my throat.
Every organ inside me trembled with pain.
I gathered the last scrap of strength I had and clutched the hem of his trousers, my eyes begging.
"My mother was innocent. What happened back then — please, just look into it. Please."
I'd said those words countless times before.
Whenever the side effects of the drugs became unbearable, whenever I was rolling on the floor in agony, I would cry and beg him.
Every single time, he cut me off without mercy.
"Elaine Harding, if your mother was innocent, then what about Agatha's mother? Was she not innocent?"