Todos os capítulos de His Forgotten Love Returns: The Return of the Ex-wife: Capítulo 151 - Capítulo 160

* SLADE’S POINT OF VIEW * I had decided to finally tell Rachel about Declan. I thought that by taking her away to that cabin, I could create a sanctuary where the truth wouldn’t feel like a loaded gun. I was happy—we were happy—and just when I finally found the damn courage to speak, fate pulled the rug out from under us. Hearing about Fiona’s accident destroyed me; it was a hollow, echoing ache that made every breath feel like inhaling glass. But adding salt to the wound — realizing my own mother might be responsible for the blood on my daughter's head — was a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. What am I supposed to do with something that monstrous? How do you keep standing when the woman who gave you life is the one trying to tear it apart? And then, what do you do when you're forced to stand between your mother and the woman you love? “Rachel… enough,” I said, my voice strained. “Why, Slade? Because she's your mother? Fiona is your daughter!” Rachel’s voice was so broken, t

* RACHEL’S POINT OF VIEW * The door opened, and Slade walked inside. My heart sank. I should have known this was a setup — the Chief’s, the interrogation room. How could I be so stupid? Slade has ties everywhere. He pulled out the metal chair across from me, the screech of the legs against the floor sounding like a nail dragged across a chalkboard. He sat down, his presence instantly shrinking the room until I felt like I was suffocating. “What do you think you’re doing, Rachel?” he asked, his voice low and dangerously calm. “I’m fighting for justice for my daughter,” I snapped, leaning back and crossing my arms. “Something her father seems too busy to do.” “With no proof? No evidence? Not a single witness who can testify to what actually happened?” He leaned forward, his eyes boring into mine. “You aren't fighting, Rachel.” “Does it matter?” I cut him off, my voice rising. “That woman’s history is enough. Her presence at that park is enough. My gut is enough!” “In the real w

* RACHEL’S POINT OF VIEW * I have no idea how long I had been sitting there, the rhythmic hum of the monitors becoming a heartbeat of its own, when the door creaked open. I raised my heavy head to see Slade standing in the doorway. He looked haggard, the sharp lines of his face softened by a weariness that mirrored my own. “How is she?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly whisper as he stepped toward the bed. “Much better, I hope,” I said, my voice barely audible. “They said her vitals are stabilizing, but she looks so small under these white sheets.” “And you?” he asked, his eyes searching mine. “I have no idea,” I replied honestly. “Why don’t you have something to eat? I can bring something from the cafeteria.” “I’m not hungry,” I replied. My stomach felt like it had been tied into a series of cold, tight knots; the very thought of food made my throat constrict. I felt hollowed out, as if my grief had consumed everything else inside me. “She’s going to be okay, Rachel. She’

* SLADE’S POINT OF VIEW * I walked into the grand living room. There she was, perched on the edge of the armchair, staring into her phone and scrolling with a detached, rhythmic flick of her thumb. “Your woman certainly knows how to create a circus and draw unwanted attention to this family, doesn’t she?” Beatrice said, her voice cold and level, not even bothering to glance up at me. “Well, if we have such an interesting villain in the family, why wouldn’t she?” I countered, my voice dripping with sarcasm. She set her phone aside on the sofa and gestured toward the seat across from her with a regal wave of her hand. “Have a seat.” “You have no heart, Beatrice. Perhaps not even a soul. Can I ask you something?” I remained standing, towering over her. “Go ahead,” she said, finally meeting my gaze. “Are you really my mother? Did I actually come from you? Because I struggle to find a single trace of humanity in you that matches my own.” She was quiet for a moment, her gaze drifti

* RACHEL'S POINT OF VIEW * I have been sitting on the plush armchair tucked close to her bedside, a soft glow illuminating the pages of one of her favorite storybooks. Her face would always light up at the tales of brave princesses and talking forest animals, and I would find myself reading them aloud, hoping my voice would act as a lighthouse guiding her back to shore. Fiona was finally transferred from the sterile, frantic energy of the ICU into a quiet private suite. She looks more like herself now, no longer buried under a mountain of specialized equipment. While she is still tethered to a steady IV drip and a pulse oximeter that chirps a comforting rhythm, the aggressive ventilators are gone. Rick says her vitals are perfect — now we are just in the "waiting room" of her consciousness, waiting for her mind to find the strength to wake up. The park management has been falling over themselves to make amends. They issued a formal public apology and paid a massive settlement on "