My Deceased Wife Wants a Divorce (Hannah) novel Chapter 185

Her fingers trembled so violently she could barely hold her phone, fumbling it several times before finally getting a grip.

The profile picture—a single sunflower—stared back at her, and a tidal wave of buried memories crashed over her. A wave of nausea churned in her stomach. She fought back the urge to vomit as, under Jason’s watchful gaze, she accepted his request and added his name.

“I… I need to use the restroom.”

She shoved her phone into her purse and fled from the table.

Jason didn’t stop her. His eyes fell on the purse she’d left behind as he calmly began to eat.

No matter how many years passed, a child of Sunflower Haven would always be a child of Sunflower Haven. Not even a high-powered lawyer like her could change that.

Hannah stumbled into the restroom and burst into a stall, retching violently. Her stomach convulsed, heaving until there was nothing left but bitter acid, yet the sickening sensation remained, as if her body was trying to expel her very organs.

Tears mixed with sweat, dripping onto the tiled floor. She trembled, too terrified to leave the stall.

Why? How did Jason find me? Why now?

Bzzz… Bzzz…

Her phone vibrated.

Hannah glanced down and recoiled, throwing the phone away from her as if it were venomous. But just as quickly, she scrambled on the floor to retrieve it.

It was a call from Jason.

Answer it… Can I not answer?

She stared at the screen, paralyzed with indecision. After a moment, she squeezed her eyes shut and powered the phone off.

The vibrations stopped. The ringing ceased. It was as if nothing had happened.

It was a long time before Hannah dared to open her eyes again. The screen was black. The phantom hands that had been squeezing her throat were gone.

She scrambled to her feet and fled the mall, running all the way to the parking garage. It was only when she reached her car that she realized her keys were in her purse, and her purse was still at the restaurant.

“Why…”

All she had to do now was be patient. She would play the part of the perfect, caring wife and show Lionel just how much better she was than Hannah.

Lionel’s brow furrowed. He tried calling again.

He knew Hannah’s phone was almost never off; she always carried a portable charger with her.

He called again and again, but each time, the result was the same.

A clap of thunder rattled the windows, and the sky opened up. Fat raindrops hammered against the glass, creating a deafening roar.

Lionel stared out at the downpour, a strange unease settling in his gut. He was about to dial one last time when the front door clicked open.

“Hannah, I was calling you, why didn’t you—” Lionel’s words died in his throat. Soaked to the bone, Hannah staggered in, her eyes empty and haunted.

“What happened to you?” he asked, rushing forward and grabbing her by the shoulders.

“Don’t touch me!”