The Wife You Buried Is Back from Hell novel Chapter 1448

He dropped his gaze, staying silent for a long moment. "Alright. We'll go tomorrow."

A beautiful, relieved smile instantly lit up Danielle's face.

She reached out and patted the back of his hand affectionately. "Thank you. Now be a good boy and get some sleep. Everything will look better in the morning."

Alex nodded and slid under the covers. Danielle tucked him in, meticulously adjusting the heavy duvet around his shoulders.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she watched his exhausted features relax into sleep, her eyes brimming with love and heartache.

As Alex drifted off, the comforting scent of Danielle lingering in the air finally chased away the dark, crushing weight of the past week, leaving only a profound sense of security.

-

The next morning, a thin veil of mist blanketed the city.

Danielle woke up early, moving quietly around the room to gather what they needed. She laid out a comfortable, pale gray sweatsuit for Alex to wear.

She packed a travel mug of coffee and the medical files Rebecca had specifically requested, making sure everything was organized in her tote bag.

Upstairs, Niki was still fast asleep, her chubby cheeks squished against her plush pillows, breathing softly.

Danielle leaned over the crib, gently pulling the blanket up to her daughter's chin. She brushed a stray curl from the little girl's forehead, her eyes filled with adoration.

Today was the follow-up appointment with Rebecca. Danielle's stomach was a bundle of nerves—

She was desperately hoping for signs of improvement, but equally terrified of hearing that the immense stress and trauma of the past few months had caused a total relapse.

"You're up?" Danielle turned to find Alex standing in the bedroom doorway. He looked groggy, but the heavy, brooding tension still clung to his features.

He had put on the clothes she'd set out. He looked sharp, yet carried a rigid, defensive posture, as if he were perpetually bracing for an attack.

He felt like a ghost haunting his own life—watching the world spin on without him, feeling absolutely nothing but a hollow, agonizing exhaustion.

It was a baseline he had grown accustomed to. He had convinced himself this was just what being an adult meant—

Being cold, calculated, burying your trauma, and always projecting an image of untouchable power.

But deep down, he knew the truth. Beneath the armor of 'strength' was a terrifying reservoir of panic, anxiety, and a devastating vulnerability he couldn't let anyone see.

The interior was sleek but welcoming—warm lighting, plush armchairs, and abstract, soothing artwork lined the walls. It was designed entirely to lower defenses.