Dear Ex-wife Marry Me

It was a shock to everyone when Yvonne, who appeared the epitome of gentleness, took her own life so suddenly.

But she did take her own life. No one could fathom why, and Bernard was in the dark as much as anyone else.

He had always believed his marriage was a happy one, full of love, with a lively son to brighten their days.

His hair turned grey overnight, but no answers came. After the tragedy, Leonard and his wife were so stricken with grief that they withdrew from their social circles, shutting themselves away from the world.

And from that moment on, Bernard never saw his father-in-law again. Now, as he watched Leonard shuffle forward, frail and trembling, Bernard realized just how deep the sorrow of Yvonne's death ran for many.

Leonard resembled a man on his last legs, panting with each step, leaning heavily on his cane. Probably sensing Bernard's gaze, he looked up, their eyes meeting across the void.

Bernard felt a sting in his gaze and stepped back as he saw Leonard approaching. Rubbing his temples, he turned to Lindsey, "Go down; tell him to stay out of this."

Lindsey nodded and hurried off.

Bernard watched Lingery speak with Leonard, who, despite his labored breathing, seemed resolute.

Bernard saw Lingery return with a hesitant tone, "Professor, he says his wife passed away last night, and he's got a letter for you. He says it's from Mrs. March, and he wants to hand it to you personally."This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

Yvonne's departure had left behind a web of mysteries. For the first three years, Bernard dreamed incessantly, wondering if there was something he'd missed, something that had hurt Yvonne.

The thoughts consumed him, causing headaches, but the answer to her suicide remained elusive. His once profound love had turned to seething hate.

They were childhood sweethearts, loving spouses, a seemingly perfect couple - how could she suddenly choose to leave alone, leaving him behind to face speculation and loneliness?

Now Leonard claimed Yvonne had left him a letter. Would it possibly be her last words? Could it contain the truth about her suicide?

The thought pierced Bernard's heart. "Let him in," he said into the intercom.

Behind Leonard, the sound of over thirty police cars, sirens blaring and lights flashing, filled the air, heightening the tension.

As the large iron gate opened, supported by a cane, Leonard walked in slowly. He moved forward with difficulty, as if to collapse at any second.

Bernard waited patiently, seated with an unfinished bottle of red wine on the table before him. Ten minutes later, footsteps echoed from the staircase as Leonard ascended, leaning on his cane.

Bernard stood and gestured to the chair opposite him, "Leonald, have a seat."

Leonard, dressed in a suit, looked at the aged Bernard, his face lined with sorrow, and shuffled to the chair.

His wife's death had taken away his last bit of resolve, and a sense of impending death surrounded him.

Once seated, he surveyed the room, his gaze falling on Sarah administering injections to Fitch and a figure lying inside a hibernation chamber.

After coughing twice, his voice was faint.

"You want to bring Yvonne back?"

"Yes. Are you here to stop me?"

Leonard didn't respond, instead fixing his eyes on the empty glass before him.

Bernard poured him a glass of wine, his demeanor composed and genteel, not reflecting the monstrous deeds he had committed. But the path he had chosen was stained with too much blood.