The Wife You Buried Is Back from Hell novel Chapter 1211

Seeing her resolve, Parham didn't press the matter.

Danielle stayed by his side for a very, very long time.

She sat by Alexander’s bed, a cool, damp cloth in her hand, gently wiping the sweat from his brow. Parham had tried to persuade her again that evening. “Miss Crawford, you’ve been watching over him for two days and nights. If you keep this up, your own health will suffer.”

“We have people watching Mr. Davidson. You really don’t need to do this.”

Danielle didn't answer, her gaze fixed on Alexander’s hand. The same hands that had once wielded precision instruments and signed billion-dollar contracts. The same hands that had once clumsily braided Niki’s hair were now as cold as ice, completely devoid of warmth.

Parham sighed, deciding not to say more. He quietly placed a bowl of nourishing soup on the bedside table and left, closing the door as softly as possible.

The room fell into a dead silence once more, broken only by the sound of their breathing and the soft whisper of snow falling outside the window. The late-night chill seeped through the cracks in her clothing like a thousand tiny needles, making her bones ache.

Danielle pulled the oversized thermal coat tighter around her. It was Alexander’s, and it still carried his clean, crisp scent.

Her eyes remained locked on his face, watching his brow furrow, his eyelashes tremble, and the beads of sweat on his forehead multiply, soaking the stray strands of his hair. A heavy weight settled in Danielle’s chest, making it hard to breathe.

She thought of Kirsten and Gian, remembering the long talk they’d had in a coffee shop ages ago. Back then, she had just moved back to the city with Niki and was avoiding Alexander at all costs. Even hearing his name made her frown.

Kirsten had looked at her, her tone almost stern. “Danielle, I know you can’t get over what happened. Those wounds don’t just vanish. But have you ever really thought about what you would do if, one day, Alexander was truly gone?”

Gian had nodded in agreement, sighing. “Niki is still little. She needs her father. And you… can you honestly say you don't have any feelings left for him at all?”

At the time, their words had felt jarring and unnecessary. She had scoffed, taking a sip of her coffee, the bitterness making her wince. “Whether he lives or dies is none of my business.”

But now, looking at the frail man on the hospital bed, the walls she had so carefully built, the icy indifference she had feigned, all came crashing down in an instant.

That’s right. He wouldn’t be around forever. His body was already a wreck, hollowed out by years of depression and obsession. The trek across the ice fields in Antarctica, carrying her on his back, had drained the last of his strength. Frostbite, high fever, exhaustion… each one was like a final straw, ready to drag him into the abyss at any moment.

“Daddy, hold me.”

“Alexander, look at me.”

The voices were like countless needles stabbing into his heart, the pain so intense he curled into himself. Suddenly, a tidal wave of icy, salty water surged over him, rushing into his mouth and nose, suffocating him.

“Cough—!”

A violent cough ripped through his throat. A metallic taste filled his mouth, and a trickle of red liquid escaped the corner of his lips, staining the white pillowcase.

Alexander’s eyes flew open, his pupils constricting, his gaze wild with lingering terror. His chest heaved, each breath a tearing agony as the images from the nightmare continued to swirl in his mind, refusing to fade.

“Alexander!”