His words hit her like a slap. She hated how calm he sounded, how much sense he was trying to make.
As much as she wanted to keep blaming him, as much as she hated the sound of his voice, she couldn't push away the truth. He had a point.
If she hadn't spoken those truths to Alex, her sweet, fragile boy wouldn't be lying on a hospital bed, fighting to breathe.
"If my son dies, Caius," she said, her voice trembling, "I swear, I will make your life a kind of miserable you've never imagined."
Caius didn't react at first. Then, after a long pause, he looked at her. His eyes were tired.
"It seems like you just want to say hurtful things to me," he muttered.
"Don't you dare act like you're the victim!" she shouted. "You've been the architect of every broken thing in our lives. Every moment of pain, every inch of doubt—you're at the center of it."
