"Why are you not a son? If you were a son, none of this would be happening."
Listening to her muttering, Rachel felt as if needles were piercing her heart, and her smile grew increasingly sarcastic.
"Yes, I was wrong from the moment I was born. I'd like to ask you, if you wanted a son so badly, why did you give birth to me? Did you ask for my consent?"
"Rache, don't be angry. Emma is just talking nonsense, please stop arguing."
Mia was caught in the middle, struggling with both sides, unable to touch or confront Emma. She could only go to Rachel, pulling her to tend to her wounds and stop the quarrel.
Rachel was manageable, but Emma wouldn't let it go so easily, sitting on the hospital bed wailing like a banshee.
"Oh, the child I carried for ten months and painfully brought into the world doesn't even help me. What's the point of living? I might as well be dead."
