Cold Husband Burning Regret: The Divorce He Couldn't Handle novel Chapter 196

The nurse was rattled by Rachel’s state, terrified someone else might hear and come running. She hurried over, grabbed Rachel’s arm, and pleaded, “Mrs. Sterling, please calm down! Let’s step outside and talk about this, okay?”

Tricia, panicked, seemed to remember something. She quickly turned and bolted out of the room.

Rachel shoved the nurse aside and ran after her. “Tricia! Stop right there!”

Tricia reached the stairwell, but her heels slowed her down. Rachel caught up easily, grabbing her by the arm. “Tricia! Tell me right now—did you do this to my son? Was it you?”

Rachel’s grip was bruising, forcing Tricia back against the corridor railing. Behind her, the dizzying drop of a dozen stories made the cars below look like toy models.

Rachel had lost all composure. Her hands flew to Tricia’s throat. “You killed them! You killed them! It was you!”

The nurse lunged from behind, prying Rachel off. Tricia gasped for air, but instead of fear, a smug little smile curled at her lips. “So what if I did? Your son, your husband—let’s say I hurt them. But your precious son-in-law still chose to believe me over you, didn’t he?”

Rachel froze, her world crumbling.

Tricia leaned forward, lips almost at Rachel’s ear, savoring every word. “Isn’t it a shame? Not just Evander—even Mr. Pembroke is on my side. Looks like it’s just you and your daughter left. How pathetic.”

“You—” Rage burned in Rachel’s eyes, but she knew how powerless she truly was. Still, she had nothing left to lose. “Fine! If you want a fight, you’ll get one!”

With a wild cry, Rachel lunged at Tricia.

Startled, Tricia and the nurse struggled with her. In the chaos, Rachel was shoved toward the edge. She teetered, lost her balance, and suddenly toppled over the railing.

Tricia instinctively grabbed for her, panic overtaking her composure. “Help! Somebody help me!” she cried to the nurse.

Rachel dangled in mid-air, the world spinning beneath her. She knew, with a cold certainty, that she wasn’t going to make it out alive.

She looked up, her gaze snagging on a single detail: a tiny red birthmark peeking out from beneath Tricia’s watch strap. In the sunlight, it glimmered a deep, pigeon-blood red.

For a split second, Rachel was transported back to the day her daughter was born. She remembered sitting on the old bed, cradling her baby, while the neighbors gossiped outside—whispering that the red mark on the baby’s wrist looked like blood, a bad omen.

But to Rachel, omen or not, that was her daughter. The daughter she’d lost for more than twenty years.

Staring at Tricia, Rachel’s eyes welled with tears, a storm of emotion and regret crashing through her.

Charlotte had just stepped out of the car when a shadow plummeted from above. There was a sickening crash as Rachel’s body hit the ground, blood pooling fast.

Panic erupted—shouts, screams, the pounding of security boots as they ran to the scene. Someone had jumped.

Charlotte stared at the broken figure in the spreading red. Step by step, she moved closer, her mind ringing, refusing to believe what she was seeing.

She didn’t want to get any nearer.

But she already knew.

Her knees buckled as she collapsed beside her mother’s body. “Mom…” she sobbed, reaching out to touch skin that was already growing cold. “No, no, this isn’t real. Mom—please!”

She wept helplessly, desperate to wake up from this nightmare.

Even as the police arrived and tried to pull her away, Charlotte refused to let go. She watched in numb disbelief as the coroner pronounced Rachel dead and took her away, the world fading to black around her.