The Wife You Buried Is Back from Hell novel Chapter 735

It was as if something invisible tugged at her feet, guiding her to the small room just off the living room—the one that had been locked for as long as she could remember.

Danielle hesitated for a moment, but curiosity won out. She turned the handle and stepped inside.

The room wasn’t large, but it was meticulously neat.

Lining one wall was a set of bookshelves, not filled with books but with all sorts of little keepsakes—a chipped ceramic bunny she’d won tossing rings at a college fair, broken years ago and forgotten. She hadn’t even remembered throwing it away.

There was a yellowed notebook, its pages filled with her messy doodles—two lopsided stick figures, with “Mr. Davidson and Mrs. Davidson” scrawled beside them.

An old picture frame stood nearby, holding a photo of her: high ponytail, white blouse, a wide grin that showed off her slightly crooked canine teeth. It was from when they’d just met, long before things got complicated.

Danielle’s breath caught in her throat.

She took a few steps deeper, realizing the entire room was saturated with pieces of her life.

On the top shelf, every birthday gift she’d ever received was carefully arranged—some from him, some she’d bought herself. Things she’d assumed were long lost or thrown away were all here, preserved and untouched.

Sticky notes were tacked to the wall, her doodles and scribbles everywhere: “Alexander was late again today,” “What a pain,” and, in bold red pen, “Actually, he looks kind of handsome when he smiles.”

The cabinet at the far end stood open, crammed with photos of her.

There she was, a gawky teenager in her school uniform; there again, radiant on their wedding day; then snapshots from ordinary moments—some even of her asleep, brow furrowed but lips curled in a faint smile.

Beneath the pile lay a slip of paper in Alexander’s handwriting, bold and deeply pressed into the note: “When she frowns, she’s truly angry.”

Danielle traced her fingers over one of the photos. The glossy print was cold, but it burned her skin, and her eyes stung with sudden tears.

She had never known this room existed.

“Fine?” Danielle’s frown deepened, her tone suddenly stern. “Rebecca told you to rest. That’s what you’re supposed to be doing.”

He avoided her gaze, voice dropping lower. “There were some files I needed to handle. I saw you weren’t here, so I thought I’d get them myself.”

He’d thought she’d left.

He’d thought she’d vanish for days again, just like before.

Danielle didn’t answer. Instead, she bent down to gather the scattered papers.

As her fingers brushed one of the pages, she noticed a few drops of blood smeared across it—fresh, from the scrape on his hand.

She froze, a sharp pain prickling in her chest.