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

Richard pov.

The morning of the trial felt heavy. I left the hospital earlier than usual, making sure Zoe would stay with Sarah.

Despite the overwhelming dread, there was a part ofthat felt strangely numb, as if my emotions had run dry after weeks of worry and anger.

Martins metoutside the courthouse, impeccably dressed in his usual sharp suit. He clapped a hand on my shoulder, his touch grounding.

"Today's a big step forward," he said. "Remember, this trial is about getting justice, not reopening wounds. You're here to see Susan held accountable, not to punish yourself for her actions." I nodded, though his words didn't settle the unease churning in my gut.

The courtroom was cold, and even though I'd prepared myself for this moment, seeing Susan seated across the room made my stomach twist.

She didn't look like someone riddled with guilt; she looked indifferent, like this was just another ordinary day. The prosecution opened with a detailed timeline of events, recounting how Susan had manipulated Isabelle and infiltrated every aspect of my life to orchestrate her revenge.

It was clinical, precise, and damning.

But when Susan took the stand, she was composed, even defiant.

"I didn't want to hurt Richard," she began, her voice smooth and unwavering. "I loved him. I still do. But Sarah... she took him away from me. Twice." Martins leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable, but I could see the gears turning in his mind.

"You keep saying Sarah took him away," the prosecutor interjected. "But the evidence shows that you were the side chick in their relationship the first tand Mr. Wright ended your relationship before he got back with Miss Sarah. Can you explain this discrepancy?" Susan's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "He may not admit it, but Richard was mine first. He always cback to me-until her." Martins stood then, his voice calm but firm. "Ms. Susan, are you saying you orchestrated this entire ordeal because you believe Mr. Wright is your ex-fiancé reincarnated?" She blinked, clearly caught off guard. "I... No, that's not-" "Let's clarify then," Martins continued, unrelenting. "You knew Isabella had a fragile mental state. You knew her late fiance resembled Mr. Wright, and you used that resemblance to convince her that Sarah was a threat. Isn't that correct?" Susan hesitated, her composure cracking for the first time. "I didn't convince her of anything. She cto that conclusion herself." Martins didn't back down. "Under your guidance. Under your manipulation. You planted those ideas and used Isabelle as a pawn to execute your plan. Isn't that the truth, Ms. Susan?" The courtroom fell silent as Susan's mask finally slipped.

"Yes!" she snapped, her voice rising. "Yes, I made her believe it! But only because she deserved the truth. Richard was mine, and Sarah took him away. She needed to understand that she couldn't have everything." Her words hitlike a sledgehammer. All this time, I'd thought her actions were rooted in bitterness, but it was deeper than that.

It was obsession, a warped sense of entitlement that had festered into something monstrous.

Martins glanced atbriefly, his expression hardening. I could see the anger simmering beneath his professional exterior, but he stayed focused, knowing this was the moment we needed to solidify the case against her. The prosecutor took over, asking Susan about her plan to infiltrate my hand her decision to involve Isabelle. She admitted to both but tried to deflect blame, insisting she hadn't intended for anyone to get hurt. "She fell down the stairs," Susan said, her tone almost dismissive. "That wasn't my fault." I gripped the edge of the bench, my knuckles white. It took everything innot to stand up and shout at her. When the session adjourned, Martins pulledaside. "We're making progress," he said, his tone measured. "Her confession was emotional, and that's going to work against her. But we can't let our guard down. The defense will likely try to shift the blentirely onto Isabella." "Is that even possible?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

"Not with the evidence we have," he assured me. "But they'll try. We have to be ready for anything." As I walked back to the hospital that evening, I replayed Susan's words over and over in my head, each one cutting deeper than the last.

When I finally reached Sarah's room, the sight of her lying so still nearly brokeall over again. I sat down beside her, taking her hand in mine.

"She confessed," I whispered, though I knew she couldn't hear me. "She admitted everything. She's going to pay for what she did, Sarah. I promise you that." The days leading up to the next court session were agonizing. I spent most of my tat the hospital, alternating between watching over Sarah and preparing for the next round of testimony with Martins.

Zoe and Martins were constant presences, their support unwavering. Zoe keptsane with her lighthearted banter, though I could see the worry etched into her face.

Martins was relentless in his pursuit of justice, diving into every detail with laser focus.

"She's going to wake up," Zoe said one evening as we sat in the hospital lounge. "She's a fighter, Richard. You just have to keep believing that." "I do," I said, though my voice wavered. "I just... I wish I could do more." "You're doing everything you can," she said firmly. "And when she wakes up, she'll know that."

The next day, Martins presented the new evidence he got with his usual precision, laying out a compelling narrative of Susan's long history of manipulation. The jury listened intently, their expressions ranging from shock to disgust. When Susan's lawyer tried to discredit the evidence, Martins countered with a quiet confidence that left no room for doubt.

By the end of the session, it was clear that the tide had turned. Susan's defense was crumbling, and the prosecution's case was stronger than ever. When the trial finally ended weeks later, Susan was convicted on multiple charges, including conspiracy and endangerment.

She was sentenced to a lengthy prison term, and Isabella was ordered to return to the psychiatric hospital under stricter supervision.

As the verdict was read, I felt a strange mix of relief and exhaustion. Justice had been served, but then battle wasn't over-not for me, not for Sarah, and not for our family. That evening, I returned to the hospital, I sat by Sarah's bedside, taking her hand in mine once more. "It's over," I whispered. "She's gone. She can't hurt us anymore."