He dragged me up the stairs and into the master bedroom, slamming the door behind us. The moment the latch clicked, his mask fell.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snarled, turning on me. "You were supposed to be in the hospital!"
"And let me die?" I shot back.
He paused, just for a second, his eyes narrowing. "Die? Don't be dramatic. The doctors were taking care of you."
"Is that what you call it?" I laughed, a broken, hollow sound. "I heard you, George. I heard you tell them to finish me off."
"You were hallucinating from the anesthesia," he dismissed, waving his hand. "You’re hysterical. Look at you, barging in here, ruining my birthday, embarrassing me in front of the board!"
"Embarrassing you?" I screamed. "Our baby is dead, George! Our child!"
"And whose fault is that?" he shouted, stepping into my space.
I recoiled. "What?"
"If you hadn't been so clumsy, if you hadn't been standing so close to the edge, none of this would have happened!" He pointed a finger in my face. "Do you know what you've done? Grandfather is furious! That trust fund was contingent on an heir! Now I have to explain to him why his great-grandchild is dead because his mother couldn't keep her balance!"