Lily's hostile glare cut deeper than her fists. It triggered a memory—a blizzard three years ago. She had spiked a high fever in the middle of the night, screaming in agony.
The snow had been knee-deep. No cars could move. I wrapped her in my coat and ran three miles to the hospital, my legs turning blue, just to save her life.
Her other grandmother—the one she was defending now—had only shown up the next afternoon. She glanced at Lily, muttered, "Well, she's not dead," and left to play Mahjong.
Yet in Lily's eyes, I was the villain.
The grandmother who sacrificed everything was the thief. The grandmother who did nothing was the victim.
I pressed my hand against my waist. The throbbing pain there matched the ache in my chest perfectly.
I nodded, my expression unreadable.
"Fine. I'll pay."
I pulled out my phone and scanned the QR code. Twenty thousand dollars, transferred to my son-in-law.
Jonathan checked his screen. The moment the notification chimed, his scowl vanished, replaced by a smug, triumphant grin.
Aria let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, immediately hooking her arm through mine. Her voice dripped with sudden, sickly sweetness.