"You murderous villain! You killed my great-grandson! I'm going to beat you to death!"
Mrs. Graham raised her cane with fury and swung it violently.
The blow landed on Amy Ward’s back before she could react. Pain shot through her as she stumbled forward, hitting the wall hard. The sharp edge dug into her forehead, and blood began streaming down her face, blurring her vision.
"Mrs. Graham, it was due to Chloe's fragile condition that she couldn’t keep the baby. I did everything I could during the surgery," Amy said, her voice trembling as she pressed a shaky hand to her bleeding forehead.
Amy had just endured a grueling thirteen-hour surgery trying to save Chloe’s six-month-old unborn child. Exhausted and filled with regret, she had barely stepped out of the operating room when the Graham family descended upon her.
Mrs. Graham didn’t care about explanations or the truth. She was blinded by grief and rage, unleashing it all on Amy.
The door to the operating room creaked open, and Chloe’s hospital bed was wheeled out. The Graham family surged forward like a tidal wave, surrounding her. Amy stood frozen, her heart sinking deeper as a chorus of frantic cries and whispered reassurances filled the air.
Her gaze drifted instinctively to her husband, Lucas Graham. Surely, seeing her injured, he would come to her aid? But he stood at Chloe’s bedside, his face etched with worry, his hand trembling as he gripped the bed rail.
Amy’s breath hitched. The tenderness in Lucas's expression was unmistakable, and it wasn’t for her.
Three years of marriage to Lucas had taught her where she stood with the Graham family on the outside. She was nothing more than a convenient tool, discarded when no longer useful.
Fighting the dizziness from her injury, Amy braced herself against the wall and watched silently as they wheeled Chloe into a VIP suite.
Not a single glance or word of concern was sent her way.
Later, Amy treated her wound at the emergency room before dragging herself home to the Graham estate. As she entered, the servants recoiled, their disdain palpable.
"How dare that murderer come back here? Bad luck," one muttered under their breath.
Amy ignored them. She had no strength left to argue. Every part of her ached from the hours of surgery, the blood loss from her transfusion to Chloe, and the fever that now blurred her senses.
Weak and hungry, she mustered the courage to ask a servant for a bowl of porridge.
The response stung. "It’s just a fever. What’s the big deal? Do you think you’re some kind of queen? You’re nothing but Chloe’s replacement...A walking blood bank. You don’t deserve the title of Mrs. Graham."
Amy bit her lip and limped to the kitchen. It took half an hour to prepare a simple bowl of porridge. But before she could take a single bite, Lucas appeared.
Without warning, he slammed the bowl onto the floor. The porcelain shattered, and hot porridge splattered across her hand, searing her skin.
Amy gasped, cradling her burned hand, her wide eyes meeting Lucas’s cold glare.
"Lucas, what are you doing?" she asked, her voice quivering.
"Don’t act innocent," he snapped. "You told me Chloe’s health was fine, yet she lost the baby. Explain yourself!"
Amy’s heart clenched. "Lucas, I did everything I could. I tried to save the baby."
His lips curled into a sneer. "Save it? Chloe woke up crying, saying you gave her the wrong medication! Because of you, not only did she lose her baby, but she’ll never conceive again!"
Amy staggered back, shaking her head. "I didn’t give her any medication. I don’t even know what you’re talking about!"
Lucas’s patience snapped. He grabbed her by the collar, yanking her close, his face inches from hers.
"Don’t play dumb, Amy," he hissed. "You’re going to the hospital, and you’re going to explain yourself to Chloe. You’ll take responsibility for this."
Without another word, Lucas dragged her out of the house and into the night.