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I wheeled toward the lift.

My mother's expression changed.

"Did you just walk past without saying hello? What kind of upbringing is that?"

I kept moving.

Lily touched my mother's arm and said, looking embarrassed: "Diana, it's my fault — Bryce was supposed to take the morning off and come with you instead. I shouldn't have asked him to stay. Zara must think I'm the reason you're here alone."

My mother's face darkened further.

"Zara. Don't you dare stand there sulking. I didn't come with you deliberately. You need to get used to managing on your own. You can't expect people to drop everything for you forever."

Bryce stepped out and tried to smooth things over.

"Diana, she's just come back from a conflict zone. She's still adjusting. Give her a little time."

Watching him soothe my mother — fluently, familiarly — was almost funny.

Then Lily's voice, very quiet and a little tearful:

"Bryce, this is all my fault. I shouldn't have asked you to come to the midwife appointment. Now Diana and Zara are fighting and it's because of me —"

"No it isn't," my mother interrupted sharply. She turned back to me.

"Look at what you've done — you've upset her. Go home. Right now. I won't have this scene in a public place."

I met her eyes.

I smiled, very slightly, and said: "This is a clinic, not your living room. You can't make me leave."

Something in my expression — not defiance, not quite, something cooler than that — ignited something in her.

Her palm connected with my face. Hard.

"You think being in that chair gives you the right to be rude? You're a burden, Zara. You've always been a burden. If you can't walk properly, the least you can do is stay out of everyone's way."

She leaned over me, and her voice went lower.

"Keep this up and I'll have you out of the house. You can manage on your own — quite literally."

I looked at her for a long moment. Then I turned my wheelchair around and left the building.