Chasing My Pregnant Wife



Suddenly, a startled shout pierced the dry air.

"There's someone buried under the sand!"

Theodore heard the shout and rushed over like a madman. He stumbled several times along the way, but each time, he clawed his way back up. At last, he reached the spot the person had pointed out.

A piece of fabric was poking out from beneath the sand.

Theodore's heart felt as though it was being gripped by an invisible hand. His gaze was filled with confusion and fear as waves of despair and anguish surged within him, drowning his soul.

With a thud, he fell to his knees and put his trembling hands into the sand. He frantically started scooping away the sand, his hands still shaking. He was overwhelmed by panic and dread.

Every heap of sand being shoveled away felt like the ticking of an endless clock, tearing his heart into countless pieces.

"Mr. Spencer, please don't do this."

Two foreign men stepped forward, attempting to pull him back.

Theodore's hands were bloodied from digging. His fingers were covered in wounds and some of his nails had been torn off.

"Let go of me! Let me go!"

Despite going without food, water, or rest, Theodore found a sudden burst of strength. He pushed the two strong men away and fell back to his knees, continuing to dig into the sand.

His fingertips scraped against the grains, desperately searching for any glimmer of hope.

"Mr. Spencer, we'll use tools to dig. Please, step aside."

"No!" Theodore shouted, "You might hurt her! Step back-all of you, back!"

It was as though he was possessed, frantically clawing at the ground, having lost all rationality. His bloodshot eyes looked as if they were about to bleed.

The people around didn't know what to say. They had considered telling him that anyone buried would likely be a corpse by now, so it wouldn't matter if they might hurt her white digging her up. However, saying so would only make things worse.

He appeared on the verge of madness.

A few of them donned gloves and began digging by hand as well.

Finally, they cleared away the sand.

A body emerged before their eyes.Content © NôvelDrama.Org.

The corpse had already started to decompose, emitting a foul stench. A few of the men lifted their hands to cover their noses, their faces etched with disgust.

"Mr. Spencer, it isn't Miss Young. Don't worry."

Theodore's breath halted, and his gaze fell upon the figure before him. It wasn't Rosalie but a thin, frail man. This man had likely been murdered by someone and buried here for quite some time; his body was

already decomposing.

Theodore's body shook violently. His eyes reflected complex emotions as a sense of inexplicable relief washed over him.

The heavy burden lifted from his shoulders, and the pain in his heart eased slightly.

However, he was far from relaxed. Rosalie's whereabouts still hung over him, this moment of relief having only briefly interrupted his agony.

Yet, knowing that this wasn't Rosalie did bring him a deep sense of relief.

He collapsed to the ground, utterly drained.

He was exhausted. His consciousness was growing hazy. He stared up at the sky, a boundless blue stretching before him like a giant painting. The sky extended toward the distant horizon like an endless ocean, clear and serene.

White clouds floated like feathers, drifting gently with the wind.

Amidst the clouds, a figure suddenly appeared-it was Rosalie's face, enlarged and smiling down at him.