Chapter 2

I stumbled forward, my face a picture of concern.

“How’s James? Doctor, please, you’ve got to save him!”

“Mrs Scott, your husband’s been severely injured below the waist, especially his legs.”

“There are two options. We can transfer him to the Royal London Hospital, where they can use cutting-edge technology to save his legs. Or we can perform an emergency amputation here to prevent infection and save his life.”

So there was another option back then! Why did James choose to have my legs amputated?

“What are the risks with the first option?”

“The technique is well-established at the Royal London, but it’s expensive. The medical costs could reach several hundred thousand pounds.”

Of course, it was about money. My legs weren’t worth more than the cash in James’s eyes.

“If we transfer him, our ambulance and best medical staff are ready.”

I didn’t need to think about it. Of course, we’d go with amputation. This was the path James chose for me.

“Doctor, don’t worry about the money. I’ll do whatever it takes to save my husband.”

The doctor nodded.

“However, I need to discuss this with my mother-in-law. She controls all the family’s finances.”

I gestured to the phone in my hand, which had been ringing non-stop.

“Mrs Scott, you must make a decision quickly. Every minute of delay increases the risk to your husband.”

I nodded and answered the call.

The empty hallway echoed with Margaret Scott’s sharp voice.

“Catherine! You’ve got some nerve! I’ve been calling you for ages. What on earth are you up to?!”

Her tone was the same as ever—rude and domineering.

“It’s nearly noon. Are you two coming back or not? The family’s waiting to help, and James hasn’t checked in!”

“Mum, I...”

Ever since I married James, calling her "Mum" always gave her a smug satisfaction, as though it cemented her authority as the head of the family.

I barely got a word in before she interrupted again. I hurried into the stairwell for some peace.

“You’re always on about being busy, but you never earn half of what James does! You should quit that silly florist job and focus on taking care of him properly.”

Her usual insults. Soon enough, she’d be the one taking care of her precious son.

“Mum!” I yelled into the phone, hitting the record button.

“James got into a car accident on the way to pick you up! He’s in hospital!”

I made sure to sound convincingly devastated.

“What? How could this happen?”

I imagined the shock on her face, and it almost made me laugh.

“Mum, you need to sell the house in Barnsley. Take the money James has given you over the years.”

“Ask the relatives for a loan too. We need at least £100,000 if he’s going to have any chance of treatment in London. Otherwise, he’ll lose his legs.”

I let out a few more sobs for effect.

“£100,000?! You’re trying to kill me! I don’t have that kind of money. James never gave me anything!”

“That’s my life savings! You witch, this is all your fault!”

Margaret’s cries filled the phone.

“Mum, I’ll mortgage the house for £10,000. You’ll have to find the rest.”

Margaret continued wailing about her lack of money. Like her son, she loved herself and her savings more than anything.

After all, she’d climbed her way out of poverty thanks to James, her golden goose. No way was she letting go of his hard-earned cash.

“Mum, the doctors are waiting. You need to decide now, or it’ll be too late for the amputation.”

“Fine, fine! Amputate his legs! Oh, my boy! What will I do now?!”

Of course. Better to let her son lose his legs than to part with a penny.

I slumped against the wall outside the operating theatre, muttering to myself.

“How could they have no money? He’s given them so much every year. Why wouldn’t they use it to save him? Why did he have to lose his legs…”

A nurse helped me to my feet, squeezing my hand.

“Mrs Scott, you need to stay strong. What’s your decision?”

“His mother won’t give us the money. He’ll have to have the amputation. How heartless she is… I can’t lose my husband. Please, do whatever you can to keep him alive.”

I sobbed quietly as I signed the consent form.

It was exhausting to keep up the act. Afterward, I sat on the hospital floor, resting my head on my knees, waiting.

I needed to call Margaret again. It was time for her to come and take care of her precious boy.

Just then, my phone rang again.