Doreen froze for half a second, then grabbed my wrist, screeching like an alley cat. "How dare you hit me? You—"
"Get off me!"
I wrenched free and turned to the nurse, my voice cracking. "I'm her daughter. Give me the form. I'll sign it."
The nurse thrust the surgical consent form toward me. Doreen snatched it out of the air.
"Give it to me!"
My vision blurred red as I lunged for it.
"Are you done?"
Arnold seized my arm, his voice cutting and cold. "Hitting people without even knowing what's going on. Doreen's right—I've let you get away with too much. Apologize to her. Now."
Apologize to Doreen?
Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice.
If it weren't for her, my mother would never have needed an ambulance.
If it weren't for her, my mother wouldn't still be lying in there without surgery.
Everything I'd swallowed for years—every slight, every humiliation, every time I'd bitten my tongue—erupted all at once. I swung my hand and cracked it across Arnold's face.
"Get out! Get the hell away from me!"
Arnold stood there, stunned.
The operating room doors swung open.
The surgical team filed out. One by one, they bowed their heads to me.
"We're sorry for your loss."
