Fiona couldn't eat her meal any longer, not with the twins' hot gazes bearing down on her—gazes that mirrored Ewan's when he was consumed by rage.
She cursed at her shaking hands as her fork fell to the floor with a painful clatter, drawing the attention of nearly everyone in the canteen. "Why are you idiots shaking? They are just mere children! Not more than six years of age!"
Yet even as she spat these words, her heart felt like it was caught in a vice. Ignoring the spoon that lay abandoned on the floor, she clumsily rose from her seat and hurried out of the canteen, dismissing the whispers that trailed behind her like unwanted shadows.
Most of the onlookers judged her to be uncultured for leaving the fork on the floor, which only reminded her of the little girl's scornful label—uncultured pig.
Fiona clenched her fists, straining to regain control as she stormed into her father's ward.
