Facade of Love (Yvette Scott and Idris Young) novel Chapter 117

Chapter 117 This Whole year had been my Own Wishful Thinking 

He scrunched his eyebrows together, his voice deep and resonant. “What do you mean?” 

I did not say another word. I just walked over to the emergency room door, wrapped my arms around myself, and crouched down against the wall. 

The wind in the hallway was howling as if it was cruelly mocking all my wishful thinking over the 

years 

“‘Yvette. 

Idris tried to speak to me, but Moore cut him off. 

“Iddy!” Moore looked pale, her eyes full of worry as she glanced at Idris’s bleeding hand, tears welling up. “Iddy, you need to get that hand looked at before it’s too late. 

Liam, who had been silent until that moment, finally turned his attention to Idris’s hand, which was dripping with blood. He inhaled sharply and said, “If we don’t get that wound treated soon, you’re going to lose your hand. I’m taking you to the doctor.” 

Without waiting for a response, Liam grabbed Idris’s other hand and led him away. 

I watched them go, feeling nothing. My heart was like still water, undisturbed 

The sight of a few bright red drops of blood on the hallway floor was jarring. 

Sweety’s surgery did not finish until midnight. When the 

operating room doors swung open, the doctors in their white coats told me, “She’s stable for now, but she’ll need to stay in the hospital for a few days. It’s important for family to be with her, especially to keep an eye on her mood.” 

I nodded, agreeing to everything they said. 

In the hospital room, Sweety was still out cold from the surgery. Maxwell, who had just finished the admission paperwork, came in and suggested, “Why don’t I stay here tonight? You’ve just had a miscarriage, so you need to rest and recover.” 

I shook my head and settled into a chair by the bed, too tired to move. There was no way I could leave Sweety alone. 

Maxwell, realizing he could not convince me, stopped trying. Somehow, he managed to find another hospital bed and insisted I rest on it. 

The room was meant for one, but it was spacious enough to fit two beds without much trouble. I did not protest. After the miscarriage, my abdomen was still tender, and the thought of lying down was a relief. 

Staying up all night had taken its toll on me. 

The following morning, as dawn was breaking, a piercing scream jolted me awake. 

It was Sweety. She had come to, her face twisted in terror. Maxwell was right there, trying to calm her, but nothing seemed to help, 

I watched in panic as Sweety made a dash for the door. Leaping out of bed, I wrapped my arms around her, my voice raspy with urgency. “Maxwell, get the doctor now!” 

Maxwell shot me a nod and bolted from the room. 

Sweety thrashed in my arms, wild and desperate, her screams piercing the air. “Don’t touch me! Get off! Leave me alone!” 

I knew terror had gripped her as she was not herself. 

I clung to her, yelling over her cries, “Sweety, look at me! It’s Yvette, I’m here!” 

At the sound of her name, a flicker of recognition crossed her frantic eyes. She turned, her gaze blood- red and haunted. “Yvette… you’re…” Her words were swallowed by sobs that shook her whole b*dy. It was a raw, tearing sound that cut through me. 

I held her close, my own heart in pieces, words of comfort lodged in my throat. All I could do was stroke her back, hoping to soothe her pain. 

Let it out, Sweety. It’s going to be okay.