Chapter Hundred And Five

LEONARD’S POV:

I adjusted the car seat and pulled her toward me. She tried to pull away, but she couldn’t match my strength.

“Leave me alone. I hate you,” she said, hitting me violently. But I kept my hold firm on her.

After a moment of crying and consoling, she eventually calmed down.

“Evelyn, I promise everything will be fine,” I said reassuringly.

“No, nothing is fine. He’s getting worse every day,” she replied, her voice frail. She clung to me and sobbed gently. “I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

“Of course not,” I answered.

When she was calm enough, I started the car and we drove to the hospital.

“How are you, Evelyn?” my mom asked as soon as we stepped inside the hospital room.

The caregiver was sitting on a chair, while my mom sat beside Mr. Wyatt on his bed. He was awake now, though he looked so weak and pale. He wasn't the Mr Wyatt I knew months back anymore.

We settled in and tried to cheer Mr. Wyatt up. We had a good time that evening. It was the first time I’d seen Evelyn that happy since Mr. Wyatt was admitted to the hospital. Seeing her smile brought me some relief and I hoped it would go on forever.

But my moment of peace was short-lived when I got an urgent call from the office. I had no choice but to attend to it. I excused myself, and Evelyn walked me to the car. I kissed her on the lips and assured her that I'll be back soon before leaving.

It was pretty late to be at the office, but my assistant had waited for me. As soon as I arrived, we got to work. Four hours later, we were done. Without wasting a moment, I drove back to the hospital.

When I arrived, it was 9 p.m. Mr. Wyatt was asleep, as were the others—except for the caregiver. She was awake, keeping watch over him. 

When I walked in, she greeted me, and I responded warmly, thanking her for doing such a good job.

“Mr. Henderson,” she began, “I think Mrs. Evelyn should go home. The way she sleeps here isn’t good for her condition. I can tell her life has been unhealthy lately—she’s stressed. In her first trimester, overexertion can trigger a miscarriage.”

As she spoke, I listened, guilt washing over me. I should’ve paid closer attention to her.

“Thank you so much,” I said.

And I remembered something, I had wanted to increase her payment, she deserved it and more. I requested her credit details and sent her some money. She couldn't stop showing her gratitude. But she deserved it.

I went to wake Evelyn, who was fast asleep.

“Hey, babe.” I tapped her gently. She mumbled some incomprehensible words. I tapped her again, and this time she woke up.

“We need to go home,” I said softly. Though she was still groggy, she managed to speak.

“Why?” she asked, “ let's just stay for the night.” and she adjusted herself on the bed.

We argued for a while before she reluctantly agreed. I drove us to my house that night.

Once we pulled up, I helped her inside and tucked her into the bed like a child. Then I lay beside her, staring at her intently. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity. She looked so fragile with everything that had been happening. 

Taking a strand of hair that had fallen on her face, I placed a kiss on her forehead. And her lips curled into a faint smile.

“You’ll be alright,” I whispered, more to myself than to her. Then I cuddled her. She adjusted herself against me, and soon, I drifted into sleep.

---

Seven months had passed since the doctor announced Evelyn’s pregnancy.

Her baby bump was now large, and she could barely see her feet. But she remained strong. We had made arrangements for her to take months off work. With my help and that of our diligent workers, the company continued to run smoothly. Even Coco’s Cooperative was well-managed. And her backbone was her secretary, she had been diligent and determined. 

“I hope this will be the last donor,” Evelyn said weakly, cutting into my thoughts as I drove. “I’m so tired.” 

“Sure, this will be the last,” I said, though I wasn’t certain. I just wanted to give her hope, it was all she needed now.

This was the third donor we’d found for Mr. Wyatt. The first two weren’t a match, and we’d been desperately searching for more.

Mr. Wyatt had been in the hospital for weeks, relying on the weekly dialysis. Despite all our efforts, his condition wasn’t improving, he desperately needed the donor.

My mom visited frequently, and the caregiver had been incredibly supportive.

Each time we visited Mr. Wyatt, Evelyn would cry. He had lost so much weight and seemed unresponsive to treatment.

As we pulled into the hospital driveway, I stepped out and hurried to help Evelyn out of the car. Together, we walked into the hospital carefully. 

The doctor acknowledged us immediately when we entered his office.

“Good morning, sir,” he greeted politely. But his face gave away the bad news. Evelyn must have noticed it too, because her expression had shifted immediately.

I took her hand in mine and squeezed it gently, hoping to calm her nerves.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the doctor said, “but the donor isn’t a good match.”

I sighed heavily and turned to Evelyn, who was on the verge of tears.

“It’s alright, babe. Let’s keep our hopes up,” I said, trying to reassure her. The doctor also offered some comforting words before we left his office and headed to Mr. Wyatt’s room.

The caregiver was seated beside him while he slept.

“Good morning, sir,” she greeted as we entered. She also greeted Evelyn.

We exchanged pleasantries and had a brief conversation before leaving for Evelyn’s appointment with her doctor.

She's been placed on monthly check ups.

And so far she's been doing well.