A Journey from Bitterness to Truth (Matilda and Yvan) novel Chapter 364

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It was another late night when Yvan found himself walking into the hospital. He half-expected Matilda to be asleep, but to his surprise, she was up, standing by the kitchenette under the window. Hearing the door, she turned around, her gaze meeting Yvan's, which were bloodshot from exhaustion.

For a moment, Yvan was struck with the illusion that Matilda was still the young wife who used to cook for him, years ago.

She seemed a bit flustered, forcing a smile, "Hello, I couldn't sleep and thought of whipping up some late-night snacks..."

The formal "Hello" hit Yvan harder than he expected. He longed for the days when Matilda would angrily call out his name, filled with resentment, rather than this distant and polite greeting that seemed to put a final full stop on their relationship.

Yvan stood at the doorway, his features sharp in the dim light, his voice distant as he simply acknowledged, "Hmm."

It seemed he had no particular qualms about her at the moment.

Matilda relaxed a bit, smiling, "Take a seat, will you? Thanks for visiting me this late. Logan headed home to catch some sleep, so it's just me tonight, a bit lonely."

Ever since Matilda woke up, Yvan hadn't spent another night in the hospital.

The guest bed, once occupied, was now neatly made, showing no signs of its past. Fate, too, was silent, keeping the memories of those sleepless nights he spent waiting for her to wake up, locked away.

Yvan took a seat, noticing the laptop on the table, "So, you and Logan are learning coding?"

Even if forgotten, even if the memories were gone, some habits remained deeply ingrained, like her knack for cooking eggs just right, soft and runny. Yvan felt a lump in his throat, a mix of emotions clamoring for release, yet trapped inside him.

Seeing Yvan lost in thought over the eggs, Matilda became bashful, "Sorry, I should've asked about your preference. I don't know why I just went ahead and made them runny. If you don't like it..."

"It's fine."

His voice was hoarse, barely recognizable. Picking the cutlery up and rinsing it, he sat down at the small table, his voice trembling as he thanked her, "Thank you..."

Memories shattered, with nowhere to turn, the life Yvan had once cast aside was now laid out before him, a relentless reminder of what had been lost.