The Wife You Buried Is Back from Hell novel Chapter 720

Night had settled thick and heavy over the mountains, the damp in the air so dense it seemed to seep into everything. The world felt sodden, as if the hills themselves were weeping.

Inside the parlor, the ivory tapers burned brightly on the memorial table, their flames flickering unsteadily in the draft, casting long, wavering shadows across the wall where Grandma’s black-and-white portrait hung. In the photo, the old woman’s smile was warm and gentle, but now, the room was steeped in a stillness so deep it felt suffocating. Only the ashes from the burning memorial notes spiraled through the air, leaving behind a harsh, smoky tang that stung the throat.

Paula stood off to the side, fingers twisting the hem of her pale dress, her gaze sharp as ice, fixed on Danielle across the room.

She couldn’t stand this woman—never could. Danielle had been thrown out by her brother, Alexander, yet somehow always managed to show up in the Davidson home at moments like this, acting as if she belonged, charming both Alex and Nathan until they hung on her every word.

Paula had seen it herself, just now—Alexander draping his coat over Danielle’s shoulders, eyes full of concern, concern Paula herself, his own sister, had never once seen directed at her.

“She’s quite the actress,” Paula muttered under her breath. Bianca, startled, glanced her way, blanching and shaking her head as if begging her to stop.

Bianca was on edge tonight, nerves frayed and restless. Her mind kept circling back to that woman who’d died long ago. She couldn’t possibly be alive—so what had she just seen…?

Bianca had always been timid, and tonight, sitting in the parlor with the storm pressing in, she felt prickles down her spine. Every time her eyes flickered to Grandma’s portrait, she could swear the old woman was staring right at her.

Her palms were slick with cold sweat; she couldn’t sit still.

Danielle, meanwhile, seemed oblivious to all the glances and whispers. Her eyes were fixed on the photo of Grandma. A heavy weight pressed against her chest; she couldn’t name the feeling, only that it left her anxious and unsettled.

Grandma had treated her like her own granddaughter. Now, with her gone so suddenly, Danielle’s heart was tangled in grief and something darker—a tide of unease that grew stronger with each passing moment.

Something was wrong. She could feel it.

The low strains of the funeral hymn curled through the air, weaving with the muffled sobs of family and friends, until the whole room seemed filled with sorrow and restraint.

She reached down and took her daughter’s uninjured hand, holding it carefully, as if she could shield Niki from every hurt in the world.

Niki was growing up so fast—too fast. The more mature she became, the heavier the burdens she seemed to bear. Burdens a child should never have to carry.

Danielle wondered what was going on in that little heart, wondered if she was asking too much.

She rubbed her brow, suddenly weary.

Was she wrong? Had she been too harsh, too stubborn?

Maybe she needed to let go. Maybe it was time to end her marriage with Alexander, without another fight.