The Wife Who Came Back From the Dead / Chapter 4: Shattered Porcelain
The Wife Who Came Back From the Dead

The Wife Who Came Back From the Dead

Author: Mark Riley

Chapter 4: Shattered Porcelain

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Before I could finish, we were interrupted.

Rachel stood at the end of the hallway, leaning against the doorframe, her figure small and almost fragile in the soft afternoon light.

She hid her face with her sleeve and coughed—a thin, nervous sound that echoed down the hall. Allergies, or maybe just nerves.

"Is Sarah back?"

Michael moved quickly, taking a cardigan from the maid and draping it around her shoulders with practiced care.

I hesitated, but for the kids’ sake, I followed. Kindness is universal, even when everything feels wrong.

She’d raised my children—packed their lunchboxes, sat through recitals, wiped their noses. That mattered, no matter how much it hurt.

I squared my shoulders and stepped up, offering a small, polite nod.

Rachel looked eerily like me. For a split second, I saw my own reflection—aged, warped by grief and time.

She kept her eyes down, twisting her hands in her cardigan, biting her lip like she didn’t know where to stand.

The maid, Holly, stood by with a tray: two steaming cups of chamomile tea. The scent floated up, too formal for the moment.

Rachel picked up a cup and held it out to me. Her hand shook a little.

"Would you like some tea, Sarah?" Her voice quivered.

I didn’t take it. My tone was gentle. "You don’t have to do this. Really. You’re his wife now."

Rachel glanced up, her eyes glassy, searching my face.

Her hand trembled and the cup slipped. Porcelain shattered against the floor, tea splashing across her skin.

She gasped, yanking her sleeve down over the burn, lashes trembling.

"You… you won’t take it because you hate me, right? Because I’m here now?"

Michael stepped in instantly, grabbing her hand. His jaw clenched, voice sharp with worry.

Her hand was already turning red. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Holly, get some cold water!" he barked at the staff.

Then he turned to me, his glare colder than a Lake Michigan wind.

"I never thought you’d be so cruel."

His words stung, the sarcasm biting hard.

"Yeah, I guess you learned a few tricks out there. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have survived."

Each word jabbed at me, like he wanted to see me bleed.

I clenched my sleeve, staring him down. "I didn’t spill that tea." My voice was icy, but my hands shook.

Holly took the other cup and offered it to me, her hands steady where mine weren’t.

I grabbed it and threw it at Michael. Hot tea splashed his shirt, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn’t come here to start a war. But if they want one, I won’t back down.

"This is how it is now."

"Watch your mouth, Michael."

He shielded Rachel, dodging, but the chamomile smell filled the air.

His eyes were cold, voice barely holding back anger. "You’re impossible."

He led Rachel away, leaving me alone in the echoing hall.

No matter how far apart we drift, I’ll fight for my children. Even if it means burning every bridge behind me.

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