The Officer's Runaway Wife & Secret Son novel Chapter 104

"I’m going for a run along the coast road. I’ll be back in about an hour," Rhys said, standing by the bed as he strapped on his sports watch. "I’ll bring back breakfast. What do you feel like? Seafood chowder?"

The lump under the covers shifted, and a muffled "Mmm" came from within.

Rhys smiled. That was Clara—her temper flared up quickly but burned out just as fast. Leave her be for a bit, and she’d be fine.

He tucked the corner of the duvet around her and left the room. As the lock clicked into place, Clara threw off the covers and sat up.

Rhys’s morning routine was set in stone: a three-mile warm-up, a three-mile tempo run, plus stretching and picking up breakfast. He wouldn’t be back for at least an hour and a half.

It was more than enough time.

Clara didn’t have much to pack. Most of the items here had been brought by Rhys, including her colorful maxi dresses, bikinis, and sun hats. She only took her ID, wallet, and a few small essentials. She shoved them haphazardly into her carry-on suitcase, the entire process taking no more than five minutes.

Standing in the center of the living room, Clara took one last look around.

Outside the window lay the vast blue expanse of the sea. Below, a school of small fish darted through the clear water. On the coffee table sat a fruit platter delivered yesterday, the cut fruit already shriveled and turning a dull brown. Rhys’s discarded T-shirt lay on the sofa.

Clara picked up his shirt and folded it neatly. She stared at her hands for a moment. Then, she opened the drawer, took out the signed divorce papers, removed her wedding ring, and placed them together on the coffee table.

A faint white band circled the base of her ring finger—the only mark left by this marriage.

But it didn't matter. In time, even that mark would fade, just as scars eventually heal.

Clara grabbed the handle of her suitcase and walked out without looking back.

She flagged down a taxi that had just dropped off a guest.

"To the airport," she told the driver.

Seeing her alone with a suitcase and red-rimmed eyes, the driver couldn't resist prying. "Miss, leaving so early? It's barely dawn. Fight with the husband?"

"No."

"Then what is it?" the driver asked curiously.

"I quit my job."

"Huh?" The driver blinked. "Quit? Right in the middle of the holidays? Which company is that heartless..."

"Yeah," Clara forced the corners of her mouth up. "The work was too exhausting. The boss was impossible to please, and there was no overtime pay. I’m done."

She had served the 'boss'—Rhys—for five years, on call 24/7, all year round. Not only did she receive no praise, but she also had to tolerate his constantly ailing "business partner."

Who would want a job like that? Certainly not Clara. She was done serving.

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