The Wife You Buried Is Back from Hell novel Chapter 747

She didn’t understand Alexander. She didn’t understand why he was suddenly so gentle with her, or how he could remain so calm and unshaken when everything felt like it was falling apart.

That evening, Danielle went home.

She made herself a bowl of pasta, but barely touched it. Instead, she cooked something nice for Niki.

Niki could tell her mother was in a strange mood, so she kept quiet and didn’t disturb her.

Danielle sat on the sofa with only a floor lamp switched on, the rest of the room draped in shadows.

Later, she tucked Niki into bed.

She checked Niki’s burned hand again.

Niki whispered, “It’s okay, Mom. It doesn’t really hurt anymore.”

Danielle’s heart ached for her. She stroked her daughter’s hair gently.

Niki drifted off to sleep.

The clock on the wall ticked away the hours, minute hand circling slowly.

At nine, Danielle got up to make herself a cup of tea. The steam fogged her glasses.

At ten, she opened her laptop and tried to go over next week’s work schedule, but not a single word registered.

By eleven, her phone lit up a few times—just messages from work, nothing from Alexander.

She placed the phone face down on the coffee table.

She didn’t want to text him, didn’t want to ask.

It felt as if something soft and heavy was lodged in her chest, stifling and suffocating.

There was so much she wanted to ask, so much she wanted to say.

They needed to talk—really talk.

At midnight, the grandfather clock in the corner chimed, its deep, somber tone echoing through the quiet house.

Danielle stood and stretched her numb legs.

That’s enough, she thought. She wouldn’t wait anymore.

It wasn’t unusual for him to break a promise.

As she reached her bedroom door, her phone buzzed once.

Alexander didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her, eyes bloodshot with exhaustion. “Sorry I’m late,” he rasped. “There was something I had to take care of.”

Danielle stepped aside to let him in. As she closed the door, she heard him stifle a cough.

She turned to pour him a glass of water, but before she could, his hand closed around her wrist.

His hand was cold, calloused, and surprisingly firm.

She tried to pull away, but he held on, making her look up at him. “You—”

Before she could finish, he pulled her into his arms.

His embrace was chilled by the night, but somehow, she felt safe.

She could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong.

She took a deep breath, feeling as though something inside her was being swept along, out of her control.

She thought of pushing him away, but his hand pressed gently against her back, holding her in place.

“Don’t move,” he murmured, his chin resting on her hair, his voice raw and tired. “Just let me hold you a little longer.”