The Wife You Buried Is Back from Hell novel Chapter 1179

Once the thought took root, it grew like a wild vine, wrapping around him until he could barely breathe. He slammed on the brakes, and the car screeched to a halt on the side of the road, the engine’s roar cutting to silence. As night deepened, Alexander’s face looked exceptionally grave in the dim light.

He picked up his phone and dialed Nash. “Get to Central Hospital immediately. I need you to pull up Danielle’s records for her miscarriage and her entire hospital stay. As fast as you can.”

Nash, though confused, replied instantly, “Yes, Mr. Davidson. I’ll handle it right away.”

After hanging up, Alexander started the car and drove straight toward Central Hospital. Back then, he had been lost in the hope that she would find happiness with Gian. Watching her with another man had been agonizing, but all he could do was watch. He hadn’t dared to think too deeply about the child.

The car sat in the hospital parking lot as Alexander waited, his fingertips cold, his heart pounding violently in his chest. Every second felt like an eternity. He craved the truth but also feared it.

After what felt like a lifetime, Nash called.

“Mr. Davidson, I found the records. Should I bring them to you?”

“Bring them straight to the car,” Alexander ordered.

A few minutes later, Nash hurried over with a file. He slipped into the passenger seat and handed it over. “Mr. Davidson, here are Miss Crawford’s hospital records and the files related to the miscarriage. All the information is here.”

Alexander didn’t speak. He shoved the car door open and stumbled out into the night. He needed fresh air, needed to calm his chaotic thoughts, but the pain in his chest only intensified, like an invisible hand squeezing his heart.

He didn’t go back to the office or head home. Instead, he drove back to Danielle’s neighborhood. The car stopped in front of her building. The lights in her apartment were already off; she must have gone to bed. Alexander leaned against his car, gazing up at the dark window, his eyes as deep and impenetrable as ink.

He clenched his fists so tightly at his sides that his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood without him even noticing. The night air was cool, but it did nothing to quell the searing torment inside him. He didn’t know how long he stood there, feeling as if time had frozen, the surrounding silence closing in like a suffocating tide.

Suddenly, a violent coughing fit seized him. Alexander bent over abruptly, covering his mouth with his hand.