But Amelia had died.
I’d blamed myself, even though her constant
blood wastage had contributed to the tragedy.
If only I’d picked Lily up earlier, she wouldn’t
have been hurt, and I could have saved Amelia. Mark had comforted me then, telling me I did the right thing, putting our daughter first. But
then he spent days mourning at Amelia’s side. At her funeral, he learned that Lily’s injuries
hadn’t been as severe. He decided I’d
deliberately withheld blood out of jealousy.
He’d dragged me to Amelia’s casket, claiming
<
her spirit wouldn’t rest until I paid the price. Lily
sobbed hysterically, even fainting, but he didn’t
care. He pinned me down and drained my
blood, echoing Amelia’s selfish whims. “You like
giving Lily blood? Now you can give all you
want!” he’d snarled. “You think you were
special? You were nothing but a blood bag for
Amelia! And so is this little brat!” He’d glared
at Lily. “Just a spare blood bag!”
Five years of marriage, and that was the truth.
He married me, had Lily with me, only because
we shared Amelia’s rare blood type. He’d given
Amelia everything, even his marriage, his life.
And what was I? As he filled bag after bag,
tossing them in the trash, he sneered, “I want
you to feel what it was like for Amelia to bleed
out…” Even draining me dry couldn’t satisfy his
rage. My last sight was Lily’s terrified face. My
baby, what would happen to her?
