“A private suite?” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. She tapped the edge of my hospital bed with the tip of her expensive shoe. The movement sent a sharp wave of pain through my abdomen where the surgical incision was still fresh and tender. “My son works himself to exhaustion so you can lounge around in silk bedding like some kind of princess? You have absolutely no shame.”I bit back the response that wanted to come out. Instead, I focused on breathing through the pain her careless movement had caused.
She dropped a thick stack of papers onto the tray table beside my bed.“Karen can’t have children,” she announced flatly, as if discussing the weather. “She needs an heir. You’ll give her one of the twins. The boy. You can keep the girl.”
For several long seconds, I couldn’t process what she’d just said. The words didn’t make sense strung together in that particular order.Karen was Andrew’s sister. I’d met her twice at family events. She’d been polite but distant, never particularly interested in forming any kind of relationship with her brother’s wife.
“You’ve lost your mind,” I whispered, my voice still weak from the surgery and medication. “These are my children.”“Stop being hysterical,” Margaret snapped, moving toward Noah’s bassinet with purposeful steps. “You’re clearly overwhelmed. This is too much for someone like you. Karen is downstairs in the waiting room right now. She’s prepared to take the boy home today.”
When her hand reached toward my son, something primal and fierce ignited inside me.“Do not touch my son!”
