The Officer's Runaway Wife & Secret Son novel Chapter 122

The moment the hospital room door clicked shut, Clara collapsed against the bed.

She pressed both hands over her lower abdomen, gasping for air as tears finally broke the dam, flowing silently down her cheeks.

...

Having been kicked out, Rhys stood at the door of the observation room and glanced back one last time.

The curtains had been drawn; he couldn't see anything.

He couldn't understand why Clara was reacting so dramatically. While the loss of the child was regrettable, it was indeed a consequence of her own willfulness. He hadn't meant to blame her, only to hope she would learn a lesson and stop being so childish in the future.

He fished a cigarette pack from his pocket, saw the "No Smoking" sign on the wall, and shoved it back in.

"Captain Huntington has quite the nicotine addiction. Dying for a smoke even at a time like this?"

Rhys turned to see Simon leaning against the opposite wall, twirling his car keys, staring at him with a dark expression. Beside him stood Emily, who had remained mostly silent until now.

Rhys ignored Simon and focused on Emily. "Thank you for bringing her to the hospital today. I'll transfer the medical fees to you."

"Save it," Emily scoffed. "I can afford a hospital bill. But you—you can pay the fees, but can you pay the debt on your conscience?"

Simon added a sharp jab, "Miss Lane, you're being naive. How can a man with no heart have a debt of conscience?"

Rhys's voice hardened. "Simon, if it weren't out of respect for Clara, that punch earlier would have landed you in a holding cell."

"Do it! I beg you, arrest me right now!"

Simon stepped forward, thrusting his wrists out. "Perfect timing. Let everyone see how the illustrious Captain Huntington treats his wife! Call your Chief down here too!"

Noah stepped out of the room, his gaze calm as he looked at Rhys.

The two men were of similar height, but their auras were opposites. One was sharp and cold, the other consistently gentle, yet Noah showed no sign of backing down.

Rhys narrowed his eyes. "Dr. Carter is a pediatrician. Clara's... miscarriage falls under Obstetrics and Gynecology, doesn't it?"

At the word "miscarriage," Noah's eyes flickered slightly.

He admitted it openly. "Yes."

"Then there's no need for Dr. Carter to trouble himself here."

Noah smiled faintly. "Saving lives is a doctor's instinct. Miss Lane brought Clara in, and I signed the paperwork. May I ask where Mr. Huntington, the husband, was at that time?"

"Furthermore," Noah continued, holding his gaze, "Mr. Huntington doesn't seem to know where Clara has been living this past week or how she has been doing."

"Just say it was a misunderstanding. Margot's health is fragile; if she keeps crying like this, she'll have another episode."

Rhys interrupted her. "Clara had a miscarriage."

Silence stretched on the other end of the line for a few seconds. When Veronica spoke again, she sounded surprised, but mostly relieved.

"How could she be so careless? But... maybe it's for the best. You didn't plan on having one anyway, so now it saves you the trouble. Just smooth things over with her so she doesn't take her anger out on Margot..."

Rhys hung up the phone abruptly.

"Saves me the trouble?"

This didn't feel like trouble saved. It felt like a disaster.

If he had come downstairs immediately when she called, would the outcome have been different?

The thought surfaced, but he forcibly suppressed it.

There were no 'what ifs'.

He was a police officer; he dealt in evidence and facts. And the facts were simple: the baby was gone, and Clara hated him.