"So what now? You want to dump your responsibilities on your brother halfway through? Do you have any sense of duty at all!"
My heart was hammering, fast enough that it scared me.
She wasn't wrong. The treatment plan had been my doing.
The moment I'd found the research on a potential cure, I called my husband, Rhys Henson. He dropped everything on the spot and spent an entire week with me poring over medical journals until we confirmed it: this rare blood disease could be treated with a newborn's cord blood.
The success rate was high.
But only if the blood type matched.
Between me and Cornelius, I was the only match.
That was why Rhys and I had this baby.
I thought ten more months, and Mom would be saved.
I hadn't even told her about the cord blood. I was afraid she'd refuse out of concern for me.
Looking back now, that was laughable.
Concern for me?
She didn't have any.
What she wanted was for me to get rid of this baby so I'd be free to wait on her through surgery.
That was when Rhys's call came in.
Before I could answer, Cornelius snatched the phone from my hand and hurled it into the fish tank.