Vivian had already finished cooking dinner at home, and the delicious aroma filled every corner of the house.
"Niki's still not up yet?"
Vivian shook her head. "No, not yet."
"What happened to your hand?"
"It's nothing," Danielle replied, pressing her lips together. "Just a little accident."
Vivian frowned, a hint of concern clouding her expression, but she kept her worries to herself.
She untied her apron. "I won't stay for dinner—there's still work waiting for me at the office."
Danielle hesitated, watching her mother's face. "Do you need any help?"
"Just take care of yourself."
With that, Vivian turned and hurried out, her steps brisk, clearly in a rush.
Danielle watched her mother's retreating figure, her brows knitting together for a moment.
But she didn't dwell on it. It all seemed fairly ordinary.
The company was on shaky ground; having to work overtime was nothing special.
Maybe she shouldn't always ask her mother to look after Niki. Life was complicated for everyone these days.
And Vivian already had her hands full with Danielle's father—divorce drama, endless arguments, nothing ever truly resolved.
—
Their house.
Alexander brought Raffy home.
The whole way back, Raffy stayed quiet, not his usual lively self. He knew he'd messed up today.
Alexander's face was cold and unreadable.
Julia saw them come in and hurried over to help with their shoes.
This used to be Danielle's job.
She'd even loosen Alexander's tie for him, hand him a cup of hot tea.
Alexander tugged at his bowtie. "Where's my wife?"
Comments
The readers' comments on the novel: The Wife You Buried Is Back from Hell