"Wh-what is all this?" Mrs. Preston put down her chopsticks and stood up from the sofa, looking bewilderedly at the three menacing figures at the door. "What kind of scene are you making here? This is my son's hospital room!"
"What kind of scene are *we* making? Hmph," Fiona Dalton sneered caustically. "You should be asking your precious daughter-in-law that question."
Mrs. Preston frowned. "Why should I ask Sonia? You're the ones causing trouble, not her. Why are you trying to pin the blame on Sonia?"
"...What do you mean, 'pin the blame on her'?" Fiona Dalton was not happy to hear that. She grabbed Cecilia Quincy's arm, yanked her forward, and pointed a finger at Sonia Quincy, who was slowly and deliberately clearing the tableware on the sofa. "Miss Preston," she said, her voice filled with uncontrollable rage, "Sonia brought this on herself! Why don't you turn around and ask her what kind of vile things she said when she ran into Cecilia in the elevator yesterday?"
