Sorry for Your Loss, It's Me, I'm the Loss novel Chapter 953

"But Dad completely disagrees with my surgery. Now that he has a son, I'm disposable. He doesn't even care if I live or die! He wants to ship us off to another country so his new little family can live happily ever after."

Yolanda was indignant and resentful. "Mom, you're his first wife! You struggled alongside him for years, built this empire, and for what? To let some other woman and her bastard child enjoy it all?"

"Don't worry. As long as I'm here, I won't let anyone jeopardize your interests. I'm arranging your surgery behind your father's back, but if anything goes wrong, he'll have to clean up the mess for us. That's the benefit of being in the same boat."

With that, Mrs. Walker told Yolanda to get some rest. Then she called a maid in to clean up the room.

Mrs. Walker waited until Yolanda had changed and was lying in bed before she left.

She returned to her own room, and Vincent followed her in shortly after.

"I heard a noise from Yolanda's room just now. What happened?" Vincent asked.

"That child, Yolanda. She's so clumsy, knocked a figurine off the cabinet. She's a grown woman, but still acts like a child. *Sigh*."

Mrs. Walker shook her head and sighed, then asked, "How is April's child?"

"He's been discharged from the hospital," Vincent said.

"Little children have weak immune systems; they do get sick easily. He'll be fine once he's older, I'm sure he'll grow up strong and healthy. You and April shouldn't worry so much," Mrs. Walker said with a smile.

"Mm," Vincent grunted in acknowledgement.

Hearing his wife discuss his mistress and illegitimate son, Vincent felt a flicker of shame. He quickly changed the subject back to Yolanda.

"Yolanda hasn't been looking well lately, and her emotions are often out of control. You need to convince her to cooperate with her treatment and stop letting her imagination run wild. The investigators from the higher-ups haven't left yet. Any move we make right now would be suicidal."

Vincent warned, his tone and expression exceptionally grave.

"Your hands are freezing. You’re like a restless child," Bennett said. He took one hand off the steering wheel and wrapped it around her icy palm.

Bennett's hand was large and warm, his palm slightly calloused. Yvonne instinctively squeezed his hand and held on.

"I'm driving. Don't distract me," Bennett said.

"Can't you be reasonable, Mr. Bennett Thompson? You're the one who reached out and started this," Yvonne huffed, turning her head to look at him.

"Alright, my mistake," Bennett said with a faint smile, pulling his hand back to grip the steering wheel.

The roads were slippery in the snow, so for safety's sake, Bennett didn't dare let his focus waver.

Finally, the car pulled into his grandfather’s driveway.