Dear Ex Wife, Please take me back novel Chapter 32

ALEX

The world stops.

The music fades. The flashing lights blur into nothing. Mira’s words echo in my skull like a gunshot.

She drowned, Alex.

No.

No, she didn’t.

How could she?

Did she throw herself in the pool when I left?

Was it because she was so drunk that she fell? Or did she do it to spite me? Honestly, my mind is spinning so much that I can't think straight.

To make it worse, a memory from earlier hits me like a wave,

The stretcher from earlier,

The flash of a white sheet stained with water, clinging to a limp figure.

I move without thinking, shoving past bodies, my pulse hammering so hard it’s all I can hear.

Athena.

I don’t even remember reaching the paramedics, but suddenly I’m there — grabbing the arm of a man in uniform, my voice a raw snarl.

“Is she alive?”

“Sir, please stand back—”

“IS SHE ALIVE?”

The other paramedic’s eyes shift toward the ambulance doors, just as they slam shut.

“No,” I breathe, panic strangling me. “No. Open the damn doors!”

“Sir—”

I don’t hear the rest.

My hand’s already on the door handle, yanking it open — and then I realize she is not here. Damn it!

She is at the hospital I left hours ago.

“Is she alive?” I snarl again, the words barely human this time.

One of the paramedics, an older man with a steady gaze, finally answers. “We don’t know,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind. “She was under for a long time. It’ll take a miracle.”

A miracle.

The word cuts deeper than it should.

My jaw locks, every muscle in my body going rigid. Athena doesn’t need a miracle — she needs to be fine. She needs to open her eyes, glare at me like I’m the most infuriating man she’s ever met, and remind me how much she hates me.

Not this. Never this.

The paramedic studies me carefully, and I see it — the flicker of recognition in his eyes. Of course, he knows who I am.

Everyone does.

“Do you know her, Sir?” he asks, his question annoying me even though the tone is respectful.

I don’t answer.

I don’t blink.

I just stare at him — cold, hard, daring him to ask again.

He doesn’t.

“Mr. King-”

“Athena Dawson, where is she?” I ask as I wait for her response.

Whatver she will say will tell me if she's alive or not.

“Just a moment.” She says as she looks through her computer.

with every click my heart pounds even harder. My knees feel weak.

The nurse’s fingers move too slowly over the keyboard — or maybe time has just twisted into something unrecognizable. Each click echoes in my head, a cruel rhythm to the panic clawing its way up my throat.

My heart slams against my ribcage, harder, louder, like it’s trying to break free. I clench my jaw, tasting the metallic tang of fear on my tongue.

I’m not a man who panics. Not a man who begs.

But right now, standing here, waiting for the nurse to speak — I’m both.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t think.

Every second feels like an eternity.

Finally, she stops typing.

Her gaze lifts, and I see something in her eyes — hesitation. Pity.

Or maybe everything at once.

The silence stretches, too loud. too long.

My voice is a rough whisper, torn from the rawest part of me.

“Is she alive?”