"Celine, it’s not what you think, it’s just…" Amara’s voice trembled, her words trailing off into the silence that gripped the hospital room like a vice.

Marceline’s jaw tightened, her eyes sharp and filled with a betrayal so raw it could slice through steel. She took a step forward, the click of her heel echoing like a gavel slamming down in judgment.

"It’s what, Mother?" she snapped, her voice cutting through the air. "What excuses are you planning on giving me now that would justify your actions?"

Amara's lips quivered, her face pale, drained of every ounce of color. Her eyes flicked down, unable to meet the searing intensity of...