Sorry for Your Loss, It's Me, I'm the Loss novel Chapter 918

Yolanda's face twisted into an uncontrollable grimace, and her whole body trembled slightly.

“Yolanda, what's wrong?” Mrs. Walker gripped her hand tightly, her eyes full of worry.

“I'm fine. Let's go home,” Yolanda said, shaking off Mrs. Walker's hand and walking briskly outside.

Vincent drove his wife and daughter home.

Yolanda went straight to her room and hid after arriving home.

Vincent took a phone call and then rushed out. He claimed there was an urgent matter at work, but what could be so urgent at night? Mrs. Walker knew he was going to see that bitch April Martinez and their bastard child.

Mrs. Walker suppressed her rage, but just as she was about to erupt, she heard a loud crash from upstairs, followed by a piercing scream.

“Yolanda!” Terrified, Mrs. Walker ran upstairs.

She ran to Yolanda's door, only to find it locked.

“Yolanda! Yolanda, what's wrong? Open the door!” Mrs. Walker pounded on the door, but there was no response.

“The key! Where's the spare key!” Mrs. Walker yelled desperately.

A servant hurried over with the spare key. Mrs. Walker used it to unlock the door and rushed into the room.

Inside, the bathroom mirror was shattered, with fragments scattered all over the floor.

Yolanda was slumped on the ground, her expression contorted and out of control.

“Yolanda, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Don't scare me like this,” Mrs. Walker said, embracing her daughter, on the verge of tears.

“Useless! So useless!” Yolanda shrieked as if she had lost her mind. “That bitch Flora Moore was a waste—her life was worthless, and now her kidney is failing me. Didn't the doctor say her kidney was healthy? I've only had it for a few years, how could it be failing? How could it fail!”

“Yolanda, what nonsense are you spouting?” Mrs. Walker scolded sharply, wishing she could cover Yolanda's mouth.

Furious, Mrs. Walker slammed her phone against the wall.

……

Meanwhile, Bennett and Yvonne were sitting in a private room on the second floor of the restaurant.

They had ordered four dishes and a soup, which the waiter was bringing out one by one.

Bennett picked up the ladle and served Yvonne a bowl of hot soup. “A slow-simmered bone broth with wild yams—it’s the house specialty. How does it taste?”

The soup was hot, steaming, and fragrant.

Yvonne picked up her spoon and took a small sip.

They had spent the whole day at sea and had only had a simple, not-so-tasty lunch, so Yvonne hadn't eaten much.