?<strong>Chapter 851:</strong>


    “Crowell, speak up!” implored Zoey.


    Crowell’s head was bowed, his fists tight, his arm muscles strained with tension. He had nearly escaped ountability.


    The police, steadfast in their role, pressed, “Mr. Hewitt, are you ready to cooperate with our inquiry?”


    “Crowell, exin yourself to the police!” Zoey demanded.


    Only then did Crowell lift his gaze, feigning innocence. “I didn’t do it! She’s falsely using me!”


    Dulce emerged from behind Michael, her voice firm. “I stake my life on the truth of my words.”


    Fiona, having arrived at the hospital in haste, witnessed the confrontation. She didn’t trust Dulce, but she trusted Michael.


    “Crowell!” Her appearance was disheveled, her hair in disarray, and her eyes bloodshot with visible strain. She trembled from head to toe, pent-up fury evident in her voice. “I will kill you!”


    Her words were sharp, each one punctuated with intense force, her mouth bitter as if tasting blood.


    Pushing through the crowd, Fiona tried to reach Crowell, but bystanders restrained her.


    Crowell made a break for it, but the police had sealed all escape routes.


    “Let me at him! Ah! Let me through!”


    Struggling in vain, Fiona watched helplessly as the police led Crowell away. Her emotions—a mix of anger, helplessness, and sorrow—were constrained by thew and social norms.


    “Return my son to me! Return my son!”


    Her cries resonated through the hospital, a mournful echo akin to a funeral bell tolling repeatedly.


    Michael thought ruefully—if Lacey were still alive, she would have never allowed her sister to suffer like this.


    Ovee with guilt and regret, he couldn’t hold back. He struck the wall with a forceful punch.


    Dulce gasped, noticing his hand. Fiona’s body tensed. Overwhelmed by her emotions, she copsed in a faint.


    Everyone rushed to her side, quickly administering first aid.


    As Fiona regained consciousness, she caught Dulce in a heated exchange with Crowell’s parents.


    “Have you no sense of right and wrong? Crowell has confessed to his crime. Are you really asking for a letter of forgiveness?”


    Dulce was confronting not just one couple, but two, though she didn’t recognize thetter pair, who also sought Fiona’s forgiveness.


    Exhausted, Fiona felt too drained to deal with these peripheral figures. Thoughts of her son constricted her heart, making living feel more burdensome than dying.


    Dulce’s voice escted, firm and resolute. “Leave this ce! Go away! Do not bother us anymore! Fiona will not write any letter of forgiveness. Michael has consulted with an attorney. We intend to see those responsible receive their due punishment!”


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