Chapter 3

Just one night with a high fever, and her child was gone?

I was utterly bewildered, but the suspicion I'd harbored grew stronger.

The online bullying escalated, and the news of Lily's death was like a match thrown into a powder keg, igniting a firestorm that left me utterly devastated.

I knew silence equaled guilt. I had to act.

I started a live stream and publicly released a statement, proposing a forensic autopsy for the deceased child to determine the true cause of death.

This was the only direct and scientific way I could think of to prove my innocence.

However, this last stand only ignited the fuse for a new wave of anger.

Eleanor Vance cried until she almost fainted in her own live stream:

"My daughter is gone, why won't they let her rest in peace? That malicious woman, she won't even spare my child's body! She just wants to destroy the evidence and clear her own name!"

Her family also appeared in interviews, tearfully condemning my heartlessness and cruelty.

Netizens' fury reached its peak:

"They want to dissect a child who's already dead? Dr. Hayes, are you even human?"

"This is clearly stalling for time, trying to evade responsibility!"

"Support Eleanor! Don't let this vicious woman get away with it!"

"Does she have a powerful backer? She's so arrogant!"

My insistence seemed so pale and powerless against the surging tide of public opinion. Even the police came to my door, gently advising me:

"Dr. Hayes, the family is emotionally agitated and firmly refuses an autopsy. We can't force it. How about you apologize first, calm the family down, and then we can discuss it further…"

"But I haven't done anything wrong. Why should I apologize?"

To my dismay, after the police left, the paparazzi, who had been staking out my home, posted a recording of this conversation online.

The netizens' emotions were reignited.

"A butcher who thinks nothing of human lives! And she still claims she's not wrong!"

"Eleanor, please don't give up. We all support you in fighting for your rights!"

I found myself in deeper trouble. With the path to an autopsy blocked, I couldn't produce direct evidence to prove my innocence.

Eleanor Vance, on the other hand, firmly occupied the moral high ground, receiving sympathy and financial support from across the internet.

I shut myself in my dimly lit room, curtains tightly drawn, as if that could shield me from the devouring stares and vicious whispers outside.

But every search term with "Isabella Hayes" in it felt like a poisoned dagger, repeatedly tearing at my nerves.

"Ding—"

A new push notification popped up. It was from Eleanor Vance.

She posted a picture of a cemetery. The caption read:

[My daughter, Mom chose a new home for you. There's no pain there, and no heartless doctors. Mom will definitely get justice for you! @IsabellaHayes, can you sleep at night?]

The comment section was instantly flooded with "Go Mom!", "Rest in peace, angel baby!", and "Karma will get her."

Immediately after, a link for a "Fundraiser for Eleanor Vance's Legal Fight" was launched. The target amount: five hundred thousand dollars.

The progress bar under the donation link grew almost visibly. Countless anonymous IDs left messages, expressing sympathy for Eleanor and Lily, and curses against me.

I watched the constantly ticking numbers, feeling a chill shoot straight from my feet to the top of my head.

This wasn't a fundraiser. This was a grotesque spectacle of profiteering, using a child's death!

And I was the sacrifice, nailed to a pillar of shame, to highlight their supposed kindness and righteousness.

No, I couldn't just sit here and let myself be slandered.

The autopsy path was blocked; I had to find another angle.

Lily's sudden death, followed by her swift cremation, could only mean Eleanor's secret was about to unravel.