I watched the shock ripple across his face, and a flicker of dark satisfaction curled through me. Without another word, I turned and walked away, leaving only ice in my wake.
"You don't deserve to know."
The moment I stepped out of the Simmons Group building, the cold wind hit me like a slap. Only then did I notice the angry red marks circling my wrist where he'd gripped me.
My phone buzzed. A WeChat message from my foster mother, Queenie Fox:
Surgery fee paid. Don't worry.
Nine words. Just nine words—and my vision blurred with tears.
Aunt Queenie had been against me keeping Denise from the start. She'd never helped raise her, never so much as babysat. I hadn't dared tell her about Denise's illness. Asking for money? Unthinkable.
And yet here she was. The woman who pinched every penny, who'd never warmed to my daughter—she'd come through when it mattered most.
The truth was, I'd always known. Beneath Queenie's sharp tongue and cutting remarks, there was love. Rough-edged and reluctant, but real.
When I returned to the hospital, she was waiting outside Denise's room.