"Liam, are you feeling any better?"

The moment Liam saw Victoria, his eyes lit up as if she were his guardian angel. "Victoria, you're here!"

Victoria's heart clenched at the sorrowful look on Liam's face. "Sweetheart, what's wrong? Did someone hurt you?"

Amy stood nearby with a knowing smirk. "Ms. Langley, what an interesting question. Who else in this room could possibly be upsetting him besides me?"

Victoria flushed, stumbling over her words. "Ms. Sinclair, you misunderstand. I'm just concerned about Liam, that's all..."

"Spare me the act," Amy said, her voice sharp as shattered glass. "We both know exactly what's going on here."

Liam immediately jumped to Victoria's defense. "Mom, why are you being so mean to Victoria?"

Amy arched a brow. "And how exactly am I wrong?"

"Because you are! Victoria just cares about me," Liam insisted, his voice brimming with childish indignation. "You can't keep me all to yourself and not let anyone else love me."

Amy tilted her head. "So, should I go be another child's mother and care for them instead?"

The thought of Oliver flashed through Liam's mind, making him squirm. "No! You can't be his mom!"

"Why not?"

"Because you're my mom! Only mine!"

"But didn't you just say it's unfair to be possessive?"

Liam faltered. "That—that's different!"

Victoria stepped in, attempting to mediate. "Ms. Sinclair, he's just a child. There's no need to argue with him."

Amy's gaze turned glacial. "A moment ago, he was talking about freedom, equality, and respect. Aren't we equals here? Why should I be the one to yield?"

"Expecting tolerance while preaching equality—Ms. Langley, is that what you've been teaching Liam?"

It was obvious. The words Liam had spoken were far too mature for a five-year-old.

Someone had put them in his head.

And that someone was standing right here.

Victoria's face paled under Amy's scrutiny. After a tense silence, she offered, "Ms. Sinclair, you stayed up all night with Liam. You should rest. I'll take care of him today."

Everyone knew nights were harder than days.

Last night, when Liam had been rushed away, Victoria had clutched her head—oh, the dizziness!—and clung to Alexander's arm as they left. Even Margaret, after a few comforting words from Charlotte, had fluttered off.

Leaving Amy alone under the sterile hospital lights, the irony bitter in her chest.

Funny how now, no one seemed to care about her so-called negligence.

Ignoring Victoria, Amy turned to her son.

"What would you like to eat? I'll get it for you."

"No need for trouble," Victoria interjected, opening a thermos with a practiced smile. "I made Liam some chicken soup. Sweetheart, would you like to try it?"

Liam hesitated. He'd tasted Victoria's cooking before—it was nothing compared to his mother's. But remembering how harsh Amy had been, he nodded softly.

"Okay."

"Let me feed you." Victoria scooped a spoonful, blew on it gently, and lifted it toward Liam.

Amy, standing nearby, caught the scent of the soup—and her expression darkened.

In one swift motion, she knocked the spoon from Victoria's hand.

Hot soup splashed onto Victoria's skin. She gasped in pain. "Ah—!"

At that exact moment, the hospital room door swung open.

A tall, commanding figure stepped inside.