Chapter Three

Yvette's POV

Just then, Edward came home. He walked through the door carrying a paper bag, the sweet, cloying scent of French macarons wafting from inside.

"Yvette? Chris?" He paused, taken aback. "What are you both doing here?"

Chris stepped forward, blocking his path. "Tell me," her voice was taut, "is Yvette really sick? Acute leukemia?"

Edward's expression froze for an instant—just a fraction of a second, almost imperceptible. Then he sighed and rubbed his temples.

"Chris, I know you're worried." He set the paper bag on the entryway table and turned to me. "But how could I joke about something like this? The report's in my briefcase. Do you want to see it?"

He actually pulled out the file folder from his bag.

I watched his fingers. Steady, no trembling. His right eyelashes weren't fluttering either.

Chris took the report and flipped through it quickly. Her face grew paler by the second.

"98.7% compatibility?" She looked up, her voice shaking. "How is that possible? Between strangers?"

"That's why I said it was a miracle." Edward gently interrupted her. "God hasn't abandoned Yvette."

He walked over and knelt on one knee in front of me, taking my hands. His palms were warm and dry, just like every time he'd comforted me over the past seven years.

"I've arranged for Dr. Richard Harris," he said. "The country's top hematologic oncologist, and my college roommate. He'll perform the surgery."

"You've pulled every string you have," I said.

"For you, anything is worth it." He kissed the back of my hand.

Chris slammed the report down on the coffee table. "Edward, it's not too late to stop this."

"Stop?" Edward frowned. "Chris, what are you talking about? I'm trying to save Yvette."

"You're going to regret this." Chris's eyes reddened. "I guarantee it. After the surgery, you'll want to kill yourself."

"Enough." Edward stood up, his voice turning cold. "I know you care about Yvette, but is this really the appropriate time to say things like that?"

They stared at each other. In the long silence, the air stretched tight as glass.

Chris looked away first. She walked over to me and hugged me tightly.

"Take care of yourself," she whispered in my ear, then headed for the door without looking back.

The slam shook the walls.

Edward stood there for a few seconds, his shoulders sagging slightly. Then he turned and forced a smile for me.

"Hungry? I bought your favorite macarons." He said. "Let's eat something, then get some rest early. Tomorrow we have to go to the hospital for pre-surgery prep."

Dinner was quiet. Edward kept serving me food, asking if it tasted good, if I needed more salt.

"Enough," I said. "I can't eat anymore."

He put down his knife and fork. "Are you scared?"

I looked into his eyes. Those eyes I once thought I could see my whole life through.

"Will you stay with me the whole time?" I asked.

"Of course." He answered immediately. "I'll be watching from the observation room the entire surgery. Richard says about five hours—you'll just sleep through it."

Lies.

His right eyelashes fluttered once.

"Okay," I said. "I trust you."

He visibly relaxed. When he got up to clear the dishes, his steps were light, as if he'd been relieved of some burden.

At two AM, he lay down beside me. His arm circled my waist, pulling me into his embrace.

"Yvette." He called my name softly, his kiss falling on the side of my neck.

This time was different. His kisses were urgent, and when his fingers undid the buttons of my nightgown, he even tore one of the threads. He entered without foreplay, his movements rough as if trying to confirm something.

"I love you." He panted in my ear, over and over. "I love you. Do you know that? I love you."

Afterward, he still held me tightly, his sweaty chest pressed against my back. Soon, his breathing became steady.

I gently moved his arm away and got up to go to the bathroom.

The person in the mirror was pale, with fresh kiss marks on her collarbone.

The next morning, Edward personally drove me to the hospital. Richard was already waiting for us on the VIP floor.

"Yvette, finally we meet." Richard hugged me with a genuine smile. "Don't worry, it's just a routine procedure. You'll be a little sore, but you'll recover in a week."

He led us into the prep room. A nurse helped me change into surgical scrubs and put a patient bracelet on my wrist.

"Where's the donor?" I asked.

"In the prep room next door," Richard said. "Following anonymous donation protocol, you won't meet. But Edward told me she wrote you a card."

The nurse handed me a light blue card. It had only one line:

"Live."

The handwriting was delicate. I recognized it.

The card slipped from my fingers.

"What's wrong?" Edward crouched down and picked up the card.

"Nothing," I said. "I'm just... touched."

He gripped my hand tightly. "Everything will be fine. I promise."

The anesthesiologist wheeled in equipment. When the needle pierced my vein, Edward leaned down and kissed my forehead.

"When you wake up," he said softly, "I'm taking you to Iceland to see the northern lights. The tickets are already booked."

The injection began to take effect. My vision blurred, sounds stretched out.

I was wheeled into the operating room. The surgical lights were blinding. Richard's masked face appeared above me.

"Beginning anesthesia," he said.

The oxygen mask descended. The last thing I saw was Edward's figure standing behind the observation glass—his hands pressed against the window, his face close to the surface.

Then darkness swallowed everything.

I don't know how much time passed. Maybe minutes, maybe hours.

In my haze, I heard Richard say, "Prepare for extraction."

There were sounds of metal instruments clinking.

Then...

BANG!

The operating room doors burst open.

Chaotic footsteps. Screaming.

Someone was shouting, "Something's wrong! There's an emergency with the donor!"