The words of accusation stuck in my throat, sharp enough to pierce his hypocritical mask—you ruined my son with your own hands, and now you want to find a "healthy" one to make up for your regret? But I swallowed all my anger, my nails digging deep into my palms, forcing myself to remain calm. I knew all too well that if we broke off all pretense now, neither my son nor I would have a chance to breathe.
Silence filled the ward, the smell of disinfectant growing increasingly pungent. I lowered my eyes, concealing the hatred within, and spoke tentatively, my voice a mixture of feigned timidity and expectation: "Liam, I don't want to raise someone else's child... How about we have another one when I'm feeling better?"
These words struck a nerve. The gentleness on Liam's face shattered instantly, his eyes turned icy, and he shoved me away with tremendous force. My already weak body slammed against the headboard, a sharp pain shooting through my lower back, and my ankle wound throbbed. "What nonsense are you spouting!" His voice was filled with suppressed rage, his resistance undisguised.