The Officer's Runaway Wife & Secret Son novel Chapter 112

It looked delicious.

Clara guessed he had made it specifically for her—no one accidentally cooks a massive extra portion like that.

She hesitated, feeling a bit embarrassed to accept it. "Thank you so much."

"It's okay, just a convenient coincidence."

Noah smiled, but his gaze drifted past her to the dry bread on the dining table. His brow furrowed slightly.

"If your stomach is acting up, you should go easy on that dry stuff."

He placed the bowl into Clara’s hands and, without giving her a chance to refuse, turned and walked downstairs.

"No rush on the bowl. You can just leave it by my door next time."

Clara stood in the doorway, cradling the scalding hot cream of mushroom soup, watching his figure disappear around the stairwell corner.

The soup was pure comfort in a bowl. With the first spoonful, a sense of calm washed over her.

Clara finished every last drop, the rich soup finally chasing away the persistent chill in her bones and bringing a faint flush of warmth to her cheeks.

She thought of her time at Riverside Court.

Whenever she didn't have an appetite, Rhys would frown and lecture her: "You're barely eating. You need to take care of yourself. Don't make me worry."

Clara sniffled. She washed the bowl clean and stood in the entryway for a while.

She took out her phone, pulled up the profile picture from her blacklist, and stared at it for a long time.

She tapped into the chat log. The history was still there.

Clara’s finger hovered, then she tapped on 'Chat Settings' and selected 'Clear Chat History'.

A confirmation box popped up on the screen. Clara didn't hesitate this time. She tapped 'Confirm'.

Five years of conversations—the pleading, the flirting, the waiting—all vanished instantly.

***

Riverside Court.

The television was on, broadcasting the evening news.

Rhys sat on the sofa, holding a case file. Half an hour had passed, and he hadn't turned the page.

His throat felt dry.

"Clara, get me a glass of water."

He didn't look up, calling out out of habit.

The air remained silent for a second.

No response. No footsteps.

His hand, reached out in mid-air, froze.

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