I slapped Charity's hand away with a coldness that surprised even me. Carefully, deliberately, I fastened each button on my daughter's clothes. Smoothed the blanket over her. Tucked the edges in.
Only then did I wipe my face and turn to face them, my voice raw with hatred.
"Get out. All of you. Get out."
They looked to Brendan. These people had never liked me, never respected me. They certainly weren't going to take orders from me.
Not until Brendan gave them a slight nod did they finally shuffle toward the door, interest fading now that the show was over. Charity went with them, her smile lingering.
I saw Brendan glance down at the bloody bite mark on his hand, hesitating. He turned toward the door—probably to find a nurse.
I spoke to his back, my voice cutting through the silence.
"I'm calling the police."
He stopped in the doorway.
When he turned around, he looked at me like I was a lunatic throwing a tantrum over nothing.
"I'm calling the police," I repeated, holding his gaze. "Everything that happened today—I'm going to the station and giving them a full statement."
Everything. Including what he had done to me.
Our eyes locked. When he saw I wasn't bluffing, his expression darkened.