“A VIP recovery room?” she said.
There was no greeting.
No congratulations.
No question about the surgery.
She kicked the metal frame at the foot of my bed.
The vibration traveled through the mattress and tore across my incision like a blade.
I gasped.
Margaret’s eyebrows lifted with false innocence.
“Oh, please. Women have been giving birth since the beginning of time.”
“Most of them weren’t cut open six hours ago.”
“My mother delivered four children and cooked dinner the same evening.”
“Your mother also believed cigarettes cured headaches.”
Her eyes flashed.
Ordinarily, I would have regretted the sharpness. That morning, pain had burned away my diplomacy.
She stepped closer.
