The Billionaire CEO Betrays his Wife: He wants her back
Chapter 217: The night she snapped

Chapter 217: The night she snapped

Maria-Isabel wiped her tears with the back of her trembling hand. Her voice was uneven, but there was a rhythm in her pain, a quiet resolve forged in the fires of survival.

"When I moved away from Salvador," she began, her voice low, "I only had a few crumpled bills in my wallet. Just enough to rent a small room—barely big enough for a mattress and a broken fan. I got a job at a bank, but I couldn’t use my real name. I couldn’t touch my money. Any trace of it would have led Daniel straight to me."

She paused and looked up, her eyes distant.

"My mother told me that my father and brothers already knew what I did. She said... If I ever showed my face back home, they’d kill me."

Ethan flinched at that. The idea of Maria being hunted by her own blood made his chest tighten.

"So I stayed hidden," she continued. "No help. No calls. Just... silence. It was hard."

She looked away again, tears slipping down like quiet raindrops.

"I needed to learn to be strong. To be alone. For my child." Her fingers pressed against her ribs as if holding her body together. "There were nights I lay awake counting coins, wondering how I’d stretch them till the end of the week. I prayed, Ethan. I begged. There were moments I thought I’d die. I tried calling Mara a few times when I couldn’t take it anymore. Just to hear someone breathe on the other end of the line. But I never let the call go through."

Ethan’s jaw clenched. He tried to hold his face steady, to be composed for her, but her words were knives. Not wild, dramatic stabs. No, these cut slow and deep, carving through the armor of guilt he wore like a second skin.

"My pregnancy..." she continued, a weak smile trembling at her lips, "was hell. I was sick most days. The medication alone wiped out half my paycheck. I worked until my feet swelled so badly I couldn’t fit them in my shoes. Rent, food, medicine... it was all on me. Just me."

She looked up then. Straight into his eyes.

"I told myself I had no one. That it was better that way. That if I kept going, if I kept quiet, maybe Daniel would forget me. Maybe Mara would forget the kiss. Maybe the world would let me start over."

Ethan had to look away now. His throat burned. His fingers gripped the edge of the table so hard, they turned white.

He had thought he was suffering. He had thought that carrying guilt meant something. That his silence, his sleepless nights, his broken friendships... was penance enough.

But he had his mother.

He had Andrew.

He had Valerie.

He had people.

Maria-Isabel had only herself... and a child she was too afraid to name out loud for the first year of her life.

And yet she had survived.

He swallowed, still unable to speak. Maria continued, her voice smoothing

Maria-Isabel clutched the sleeves of her uniform as though they could keep her together, even as her words threatened to break her open.

"The guy," she whispered, "the second body... he was my colleague from the bank."

Ethan looked up sharply. His eyes were fixed on her, but he didn’t speak—just listened, breathing slowly, like he already sensed the direction this was going.

"He kept hitting on me," she continued, her voice trembling. "Persistent, charming in a way that made other women at work blush. But not me. I kept pushing him away. I didn’t have space for any of that. My life was already... too complicated."

Her hands curled into fists.

"Isabella was born premature. So tiny. So fragile. She needed medication and constant monitoring. And it was expensive, Ethan. God, everything was expensive. Rent, formula, doctors..." She laughed bitterly through her tears. "I watched my savings disappear month after month. And I couldn’t let her go without. I wouldn’t."

Ethan leaned forward, his voice gentle. "So you took money from your trust fund."

She hesitated—just for a breath. Then nodded, shame washing over her face.

"Yes. I did," she whispered. "A year after she was born. It wasn’t much at first. Just enough to cover the medicine and late bills. But the bills start to increase. I convince myself it was the last. That no one will notice."

He didn’t judge her. He didn’t flinch.

"And someone did?" he asked softly.

Maria nodded again, her lips pressed together.

"A friend at the bank told me Daniel had been asking around. Said he came in furious, demanding to know where I was. I panicked. Quit my job. Left everything. Moved to another apartment in another part of town. I didn’t even have time to collect all of Isabella’s things. I just... ran."

She exhaled slowly, as if the memory itself choked her.

"That night," she said, her voice cracking, "he showed up. My former colleague. I don’t know how he found me. Maybe he followed me one day. Maybe someone talked. But he was there, outside my door."

Ethan’s body tensed, jaw tight.

"He said he just wanted to talk. To help. That he knew I was struggling. That he could make it go away. I was so tired... so desperate. I let him in."

Her eyes glazed over as if reliving the moment. She looked past Ethan now, to a place he couldn’t see.

"Daniel showed up not long after. Drunk. Angry. I don’t know how he knew, but he walked in like a storm, shouting, accusing me of sleeping with him, of betraying him again."

Her voice broke.

"I was trying to calm him down. To explain. But he snapped. He grabbed the kitchen knife. I didn’t even see it at first—just the scream. The blood."

She closed her eyes tightly.

"I tried to pull them apart. I touched the knife. It cut me. His blood was everywhere—on my hands, my shirt, the floor... and Daniel stood there, breathing heavy, looking at me like I was the one who did it."

Ethan swallowed hard, his stomach knotting.

"He said I owed him," she whispered. "That I was going to take the fall."

Her hands covered her face as the weight of it all fell over her again. "He said if I love our daughter, I’d take the blame. That I should be grateful he didn’t kill me, too."

Ethan reached across the table then. Slowly. Carefully. And rested his hand over hers.

"You didn’t kill him," he said firmly. "Maria... you didn’t kill him."

"I didn’t stop it either," she cried, lifting her tear-streaked face to his. "I let that man die in my kitchen."

"You tried to save him," Ethan countered, voice low but unwavering. "You were caught between a monster and a secret you couldn’t outrun. Don’t let Daniel define you anymore."