Whitney is sent into the operating room. Lawrence sits outside, even more anxious than Frances.
I am also nervous, hovering outside the operating room and praying that Whitney will be fine.
If I hurt an innocent little life, I will never forgive myself.
However, things go against my wish. When the doctor comes out, he shakes his head.
“I’m sorry, we’ve tried our best, but we lost the child. The patient’s ribs are also slightly fractured. She needs a good rest. Most importantly, the patient has a history of mental illness. Such a big blow might cause violent mood swings. You should keep an eye on her and call the doctor if there’s any problem.”
I feel painful in my heart.
It’s like I’ve lost my own child.
Lawrence goes into the ward in a daze, and I follow him.
Whitney is already awake. She sits on the hospital bed with dull eyes, which is rather distressing.
When she sees me, she suddenly gets angry. She grabs the cup on the bedside table and throws it at me.
I don’t think the cup will hit my belly, so I don’t even dodge. I close my eyes and get ready to take Whitney’s anger.
Anyway, I can’t get away with the loss of the baby. I have to bear her blame.
However, the cup doesn’t hit my head. And I hear Frances snort.
I open my eyes and see that he is standing in front of me. He has blocked the cup with his arm.
The cup falls onto the ground and breaks into pieces. I suddenly recall the time when Whitney smashed my head with a bottle. I wonder if she knew about my relationship with Frances at that time.
“Are you an idiot? Why don’t you dodge?”
Frances turns around and questions me in a deep voice.
“It’s my fault, so she can vent her anger on me.” I say expressionlessly.
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