Bronson, who was usually a spoiled brat and a little tyrant at home, didn’t care about my outburst. He stood up, shoving me.

“What’s wrong? Can’t handle the truth? You’re just a sour old woman.”

He pushed me roughly, grabbing my clothes and threatening me.

In the midst of the argument, my consciousness began to fade, and I collapsed onto the cold floor.

When I woke up again, I was in a hospital bed, the sharp scent of antiseptic filling my nostrils.

Looking up, I saw Nola standing by my bed, her eyes red.

“Lydia, it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have called Ryan away to keep me company before...