The Wife You Buried Is Back from Hell novel Chapter 32

As soon as Alexander answered the call, he sprang to his feet and headed for the door.

"Alexander." Danielle's voice stopped him. "Where are you going?"

He paused, glanced her way, but only offered a brief explanation: "It's Millie's birthday party tonight. She's drunk, she has allergies—I'm picking her up."

Birthday?

A sudden clarity swept over Danielle.

So, on this very day in her past life, not only had he attended a competition with Millie, but he'd celebrated her birthday too. That was what he meant by "busy."

Danielle drew a deep breath, fighting off the exhaustion as she rose to her feet. "Ten minutes. I need to talk to you."

She was done playing these games.

After the intense competition, she was spent—her entire body ached with fatigue. This was the first time, since becoming a stay-at-home mom, that she'd pushed herself so hard. She still hadn't adjusted to the pace.

Alexander glanced at his watch and, with barely a pause, replied, "Wait for me at home."

Without another word, he strode out the door.

As he passed, the hem of his coat brushed the ring lying on the table.

With a faint metallic clatter, the ring tumbled to the floor.

Alexander didn't seem to notice.

Or maybe he did, but he simply didn't care—he never even looked back.

Danielle stared at the ring on the ground, a bitter smile tugging at her lips.

She remembered that time, years ago, when a heavy storm stranded her outside The Davidson Group's building after work. She couldn't get a cab, so she called Alexander to pick her up. He said he was "too busy."

She'd waited in the wind and rain for ages, shivering until she spiked a fever by the time she got home.

When he finally came back that night, he didn't spare her a glance—never even asked if she was all right.

She had begged him for help, but he never came. Yet the moment Millie called, he dropped everything for her.

Six years. She'd loved this cold, indifferent man for six whole years.

What a joke.

In his world, his priorities had always been crystal clear.

Now, so were hers.

Expression hardening, Danielle stood and left the club.

—

Danielle gently took the picture and looked at it.

The title, written in a child's scrawl, read: "Our Family."

Danielle's hand trembled.

There, in crayon and marker, were four figures: Niki, Raffy, herself, and Alexander. Niki stood holding her father's hand, a wide, beaming smile on her face.

The longer she looked, the more her eyes blurred with tears.

Niki longed for her father's love, for a whole family. Danielle understood.

She always watched from the sidelines as Raffy clung to his dad—what must Niki have been thinking, in her little heart?

In her past life, even up to her final moments, she'd clung to the hope that her father would come for her.

A sharp ache twisted through Danielle's chest, as if her heart had been sliced open.

She leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her daughter's cheek.

"Daddy… Niki will be good. Please don't stop loving Niki..."

In her sleep, Niki murmured, her voice soft and pleading: "Daddy…"