Betty’s POV

The fruit basket from my grandparents sat on the side table like a quiet accusation. The sweet scent of ripe peaches and apples mixed with the sterile hospital smell, making my stomach turn. I stared at the basket, my mind struggling to process everything Mum had just told me. My own grandparents had tried to kill me. For money.

I felt the blood drain from my face. My hands trembled in my lap as I looked at her. “They… they caused the accident? On my sixth birthday?” I ...