A vein throbbed at Leon's temple. He spun around and cracked his hand across my face.
"Rose Fisher, have you lost your mind?" His voice was a low growl. "I'm warning you—don't cause me any more trouble."
I crumpled, clutching his lapels to keep from falling. "Why won't you listen? Would I use our son's life to lie to you?"
Leon's gaze went arctic. "You came back yesterday acting like a lunatic and nearly strangled the dog. Today, you're making a scene at the bureau." He shoved my hands away. "I think Claire is right. You need psychiatric help."
I tried to explain. I begged him to listen.
But Leon was deaf to my words. He insisted I was insane.
Because of his label—*crazy person*—the staff refused to even look at the bloodstained medical records in my hand. They wouldn't issue the death certificate.
Defeated, I could only leave.
Three days later, I held a small funeral for David Matthews.
The mourning hall was cold and desolate. Aside from a few stone-faced staff members, I was the only one by David's side.
Just as the final farewell ended and my son's small body was about to be consigned to the furnace, the main doors burst open.
Leon stormed in, his face livid.