The Wife You Buried Is Back from Hell novel Chapter 78

She turned to Alexander. "Unlock the door."

Alexander's expression didn't change. "If you want to stay somewhere else tonight, I won't stop you. But Niki is coming home with me."

"I don't want to," Niki piped up at that moment. "I don't want to go home with you. I want to stay with Mom."

A faint crease appeared between Alexander's brows.

"Uncle, you're always mean to Mom," Niki said, her voice trembling with accusation. "She didn't even want to go to that dinner with you, and she didn't want to get in the car just now."

"She got hurt at school yesterday, too, and you didn't even care about her."

All these things—every little detail—Niki had seen and remembered.

She used to think her dad was simply busy with work. At least he'd come home every night.

But now, all she felt was that her father didn't love her mother. And he didn't love her, either.

Even when she won first place in the kindergarten math competition, he didn't praise her.

It made her realize that, no matter how well she did, her father would never really like her.

At last, Alexander's eyes drifted to Danielle's bandaged wrist, his gaze so dark and deep it gave nothing away.

Danielle felt the weight of it, sharp and uncomfortable, and she instinctively pulled her hand back.

Niki pressed her lips together. "You're always hurting Mom. You should say sorry to her."

She couldn't stand watching her mom swallow her pain in silence anymore.

Alexander's frown deepened as he looked at Danielle. "Is this your doing? Sending a child to fight your battles?"

Danielle let out a dry, bitter laugh.

Even now, Alexander genuinely thought she and Niki were just being difficult.

Of course.

Someone who doesn't care about you, could never care about your feelings.

You tell him you want a divorce, move your things out of the house, and he still thinks you're throwing a tantrum.

How indifferent does someone have to be to behave like this?

Danielle had no interest in arguing with him—not even for a second longer in that car, not another word wasted on him.

She wanted to respect her daughter's wishes.

"Yes, I want to," Niki said, a small, hopeful smile breaking through.

Yet beneath that smile, Danielle sensed the ache of quiet sadness.

She gathered Niki into her arms as they walked, gently stroking her hair.

Danielle knew her daughter was thoughtful, mature beyond her years.

But no child should have to grow up longing for their father's love.

That kind of love—Alexander had never given it to Niki.

So she'd spent her childhood watching other kids with their dads, wishing, just once, her own father would really see her, would call her by name.

But to this day, he never had—and now, Niki had chosen to let him go.

Danielle's heart ached for her daughter's forced maturity, and guilt gnawed at her for what she couldn't give.

All the love Niki missed from her father, Danielle would give her tenfold.