Winning Back His Ex's Wife's Broken Heart by Hayley

Richard pov.

The call from the police cjust after dawn, jarringawake in the cold, uncomfortable chair next to Sarah's hospital bed.

I fumbled with my phone, heart pounding as I stepped into the hallway to answer.

"We've located Susan," the officer said. "She's in custody. We'd like you to cdown to the station." My grip tightened around the phone. The relief I felt was fleeting, quickly replaced by anger. "I'll be there," I said, my voice low.

Zoe appeared besideas I hung up. She had been sitting with Sarah through the night, taking turns with Martins to ensure I wasn't alone.

Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but her concern for Sarah mirrored my own.

"Was that about Susan?" she asked.

I nodded. "They've got her. I'm heading to the station." "I'm coming with you," she said firmly.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "Stay here. I need someone I trust to be with Sarah." She hesitated, then sighed. "Fine. But keepupdated." When I arrived at the police station, Martins was already there, leaning against a wall in the waiting area. He straightened when he saw me, his expression grim.

"This better be good," he muttered.

"Let's hope it gives us answers," I replied.

The officer led us to the interrogation room, where Susan sat handcuffed to the table. She looked nothing like the woman I remembered-the confident, polished ex who had once been a part of my life. Instead, she was disheveled, her hair tangled and her face pale. But her eyes still held that familiar glint of cunning, a reminder of why I had ended things with her in the first place.

"Richard," she said with a small, almost mocking smile as I entered. "Long tno see." "Susan," I said coldly, taking the seat across from her. Martins stood beside me, his arms crossed.

The officer gestured for Susan to speak, and for a moment, she just sat there, staring at me. Then, she shrugged. "Well, I guess this is the part where I spill my guts, huh?" "Start with why," I said, my voice hard. "Why did you do this? Why involve Isabella? Why target Sarah?" Her smile faltered, and she leaned back in her chair, studying me. "You really don't get it, do you?" she said bitterly. "You think you can just toss people aside and move on without consequences?" I frowned. "What are you talking about? We broke up a year ago. You were the one who couldn't let go." "And you were the one who humiliated me," she shot back. "You moved on so quickly, parading your perfect little fiancée around while I was still trying to pick up the pieces." "This isn't about humiliation," Martins interjected, his tone sharp. "This is about you putting lives at risk. You helped a mentally unstable woman escape a psychiatric hospital. You gave her access to their home. You put Sarah and her unborn child in danger. Why, Susan? What was the point?" Susan's gaze flicked to him, then back to me. She leaned forward, her voice low and venomous. "Because I wanted you to feel what it's like to lose everything. Just like I did." My jaw tightened, anger bubbling beneath the surface. "So you manipulated Isabella? Used her as a pawn in your sick game?" She laughed, a bitter sound that grated on my nerves. "Isabella was easy to manipulate. She was already obsessed with you, convinced you were her dead fiance. All I had to do was give her a little push. Feed her delusions. Make her believe Sarah was the enemy." "You're sick," I said, my voice shaking with barely restrained fury.

Susan's smile widened. "Maybe. But it worked, didn't it? Look at you now. Your precious Sarah is lying in a hospital bed, your baby's future uncertain. And you're here, scrambling to put the pieces together. Tell me, Richard, how does it feel?" I stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. Martins placed a hand on my shoulder, groundingbefore I could say or do something I'd regret. "You've just confessed to orchestrating this entire mess," Martins said coolly. "That's all we needed to hear." The officer nodded, stepping forward to escort Susan out of the room. She didn't resist, but as she passed me, she leaned in close enough for onlyto hear.

"Enjoy your happy ending while it lasts," she whispered. "It's only a matter of tbefore it all comes crashing down." I didn't respond, refusing to give her the satisfaction.

*** Back at the hospital, I relayed everything to Zoe and Martins. Sarah was still unconscious, her face pale against the hospital pillows. The sight of her like that tore at me.

Martins paced the room, his frustration evident. "The good news is we have enough to bury Susan in court," he said.

"She confessed to everything. And once Isabella's back in the psychiatric hospital where she belongs, we can focus on Sarah and the baby." "Burying her isn't enough," I said, my voice low. "I want her held accountable for every single thing she's done. I want her to rot for this." "She will," Zoe said gently. "But right now, you need to focus on Sarah. She needs you." The arrest of Susan brought a strange kind of relief mixed with fury. I knew this was far from over, but at least the immediate threat was neutralized.

Back at the hospital, I sat by Sarah's bedside, her pale face and the sound of the machines hooked to her creating an ache in my chest that wouldn't go away.

I held her hand gently, scared that even the slightest pressure might cause her pain.

It had been a few days since the confrontation with Isabelle and the discovery of Susan's involvement. The doctors assuredSarah's condition was stable, but the word "coma" loomed overlike a dark cloud.

The nurses cand went, checking her vitals, adjusting the machines, and offeringsympathetic smiles, but none of it lessened the weight in my chest.

Zoe and Martins were my lifelines. They stayed close, taking turns keepingcompany and managing things I couldn't handle.

Zoe kept in touch with Sarah's business. Martins, on the other hand, was already in full lawyer mode, piecing together a case that would hold Susan accountable for everything she'd done.

A few days after Susan's arrest, I was called back to the station to review the evidence. Martins cwith me, his calm, analytical demeanor a stark contrast to my simmering anger.

The detective laid out what they had uncovered so far: "We've confirmed that Susan was the one who orchestrated Isabella's escape from the psychiatric hospital," he said, pointing to a series of grainy security footage stills. One showed a woman in scrubs-clearly Susan in disguise-leading Isabella out of the facility.

"She used a fake ID to gain access and posed as a nurse. We're still working to identify how she acquired the uniform and credentials." My jaw clenched as I leaned forward, staring at the screen. "And the security breach at my home?" The detective nodded grimly. "That was Susan as well. We found that the access code to your penthouse hadn't been changed in years, and she likely still had it from when you two were together. She passed it to Isabella, who used it to get inside." His words hitlike a punch to the gut. I'd been so focused on protecting Sarah that I hadn't thought to check something as basic as changing the access code.

"That's on me," I muttered, running a hand through my hair.

"Don't do that," Martins said sharply. "This is on her, not you. You trusted someone who took advantage of it. That's not your fault." I nodded but didn't respond. Fault or not, the guilt was still there.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of preparation. Martins took the lead, combing through every piece of evidence the police gathered and building a case so airtight that Susan wouldn't have a chance to wiggle out of it. He spent hours on the phone, coordinating with the prosecution and preparingfor what to expect in court.

"She'll probably plead not guilty," he said one evening as we sat in the hospital cafeteria. Zoe had taken over my spot by Sarah's bedside, givinga rare moment to step away.

"She might even try to claim diminished responsibility, but we have her confession on record. That's our strongest weapon." I nodded, though my mind was elsewhere. Every waking moment was consumed by thoughts of Sarah-her pale face, the steady beep of the machines, the tiny movements I swore I saw when I stared at her long enough. "Richard, are you listening?" Martins asked, his tone sharp.

"Yeah," I said, shaking myself out of it. "Confession. Strong weapon. Got it." He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Look, I get it. Your mind's with Sarah, and it should be. But this case is important. If we win, Susan gets what she deserves, and Sarah gets the justice she needs." "I know," I said quietly. "I just... I can't stop thinking about her, about what might have happened if..." "Don't go there," Martins interrupted. "She's alive. The baby's alive. That's what matters right now." Days turned into weeks, and Sarah's condition remained unchanged. The doctors said her body was healing, but her mind hadn't yet caught up.

They couldn't predict when-or if-she would wake up, and the uncertainty gnawed atconstantly.

Zoe was a rock, keeping things running smoothly while I floundered. She brought food I barely touched, remindedto sleep when my body screamed for rest, and offered quiet reassurance. "You need to take care of yourself, Richard," she said one evening as we sat by Sarah's bedside. "She wouldn't want you to run yourself into the ground." "I'm fine," I said automatically, though we both knew it wasn't true.

"You're not," she said softly. "And that's okay. You're allowed to not be fine right now. But you're no good to Sarah or the baby if you're barely holding on." Her words stayed withlong after she left.

The day of Susan's preliminary hearing finally arrived. The courtroom was cold and clinical, the air thick with tension. Susan sat at the defendant's table, her expression blank as the charges were read out. Martins was in his element, delivering a scathing argument that left no doubt about Susan's culpability. "She didn't just orchestrate a plan to harm Richard and Sarah," he said, his voice steady and commanding.

"She weaponized the vulnerabilities of a mentally ill woman and put a pregnant woman and her unborn child in grave danger. This wasn't a crof passion or desperation-it was a calculated act of malice." Susan's lawyer tried to paint her as a victim of her own emotions, claiming she'd been driven to extremes by her unresolved feelings for me. It was a weak argument, and Martins dismantled it piece by piece.

"She had options," he said firmly. "She chose this path. She chose to hurt two innocent people because she couldn't let go of a past that was never hers to begin with." The judge set a trial date, and as we left the courtroom, I felt a flicker of hope for the first tin weeks.

*** I returned to the hospital that evening, exhausted but determined. Sarah was still the same, her chest rising and falling with the rhythm of the ventilator.

I sat beside her, taking her hand in mine.

"They've got her, Sarah," I murmured. "She won't hurt us again. I promise." The room was silent except for the hum of the machines. I closed my eyes, leaning my forehead against her hand.

"We need you," I whispered. "I need you. Please, Sarah. Cback to me." The silence stretched on, but I stayed there, holding her hand and hoping she could feelsomehow.

The weeks leading up to the trial were a blur of depositions, meetings with the prosecution, and late-night strategy sessions with Martins. He was relentless, ensuring no detail was overlooked.

"This is more than just a trial," he toldone night as we reviewed the evidence again. "This is about closure. For you, for Sarah, for everyone." I nodded, though the word "closure" felt hollow. Nothing would feel truly closed until Sarah woke up, until I could see her smile and hear her voice again.

The night before the trial, I sat by Sarah's bedside. I traced my fingers over her knuckles, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I'll fight for you," I said. "Every step of the way, I'll fight for you. Just don't give up on me, okay?"