My mother dropped the knife, her face white. "Irene—I'm sorry, I—"
Everything went black.
When I opened my eyes, Joel Lambert's eager, ingratiating face was the first thing I saw.
"Irene, you're awake?"
I turned to my mother. "Why is he here?"
"I was afraid I couldn't take care of you alone, so I called him over. You two are getting married sooner or later—it's only right that he looks after you."
Every patient in the shared ward had their ears pricked up, exchanging looks I didn't need to decode.
For the first time, I truly looked at my mother.
And what I saw on her face was unmistakable.
Satisfaction. Gloating.
She'd done this on purpose.
She wanted to push me into the fire. She wanted everyone to witness my humiliation.
Why?
Was I even her real daughter?
My voice came out flat. Dead still, like stagnant water.
"You really want me to marry Joel Lambert?"
My mother nodded. "Of course. It's all I've been hoping for."
The words tumbled out of her mouth like she couldn't say them fast enough.
A chill sank through me—bone-deep, marrow-deep—until I was shaking with it.