If Emily were still alive, had I not been so fed up, no longer willing to endure endless humiliation like some spineless mutt, would Jane really have made that call?
She would have.
Surgery delays waiting for family consent, so I kneeled before them and slapped myself over and over until Jane was satisfied to sign.
Now, even with Emily gone, Jane still wielded her life as a threat without a second thought.
I was enraged.
"Earlier you said Emily was faking her illness, now you're threatening to stop all treatments, what the hell do you see her as?!"
"Jane, you are truly despicable, rotten to the core!"
I stared at Jane in despair, once thought of as sweet, now just vile and nauseating.
She had never faced such humiliation, especially not from someone she viewed as less than her.
She furiously pulled out her phone, a twisted smile on her face, "Mike, I'm giving you one last chance—apologize or not."
"Not happening."
There's no logic in victims apologizing to their abusers.
Jane dialed the number, a smug look as if to say, "Just watch what I do next."
"Dr. Fogg, halt all medical interventions for Emily immediately."
Silence stretched on the other end, and then Dr. Fogg hesitated, "You are Emily Lapord's parent, correct?"
"Absolutely."
Jane smirked, flaunting that the child was hers to control.
But the next words hit her like a thunderbolt.
"Unfortunately, we can't comply with that request because Emily has passed away—she died the day of the mock funeral, and as her parent, you weren't there."
