She entered my room carrying flowers as though they proved she was innocent.
“You have gone too far,” she said.
I looked down at the bouquet.
White lilies.
Daniel stood immediately.
“Leave.”
My mother ignored him and focused on me.
“She misunderstood.”
“No,” I said. “She understood perfectly.”
Her expression tightened.
“Emily, Madison lost her temper. You know how she is.”
“Yes,” I said. “I do.”
“She was upset.”
“She terrorized a six-year-old.”
“She is your sister.”
“Lily is my daughter.”
For once, my mother had no immediate response.
Then she moved closer and lowered her voice.
“You are choosing that child over your own family.”
I met her eyes.
“No,” I said. “I am choosing my child over people who hurt her.”
That was the moment my mother lost control.
She called me ungrateful, heartless, and brainwashed.
She said adopting Lily had changed me.
She accused me of abandoning my bloodline.
She warned that someday I would regret cutting off the only people who truly belonged to me.
A nurse entered before Daniel had to call hospital security.
My mother left in tears, but before walking out, she hissed, “You’ll come crawling back.”
I never did.
That evening, Daniel brought Lily to see me.
She stood hesitantly in the doorway wearing her yellow sweater and holding a stuffed rabbit by one ear. Her eyes were swollen from crying.
“Mommy?” she whispered. “Am I in trouble?”
Even though moving hurt, I opened my arms.
She climbed carefully onto the hospital bed and pressed herself against me as though she feared I might disappear.