Scarlet's voice echoed through the grand but coldly elegant living room, her tone laced with frustration and disbelief.
"Mum, why did you have to take her to the hospital?" she shouted, pacing back and forth as the tension in the air grew thicker.
Her mother, seated with a composed yet weary expression, barely looked up from the delicate china cup she held.
The cook, who had just handed her a cup of lemon tea, quickly retreated from the room, sensing the brewing storm.
Scarlet's mother took a small sip, wiping her forehead with a neatly folded handkerchief before responding.
"You don't seem to understand the gravity of this situation," her mother replied, her voice calm but firm, as if trying to soothe a child's tantrum.
Scarlet's eyes narrowed, her fury barely contained. "You should have just thrown her out somewhere and let her rot there," she hissed, her voice dropping to a venomous low.
