The Officer's Runaway Wife & Secret Son novel Chapter 127

When Clara woke up, Simon was hunched over the small bedside table, peeling a mandarin orange.

"You're awake?"

Simon handed her a segment of the fruit. "Try this. Just had them delivered. Super sweet."

Clara shook her head, her gaze resting on the dark circles under his eyes. "Did you stay up all night?"

"I took a nap right here on the table."

Simon tossed the orange segment into his own mouth and stood up to grab a thermos container. "Don't worry about me. I'm a night owl; I don't need much sleep. You, on the other hand... the nurse just did rounds and said your blood pressure is still low."

Clara felt drained. She stayed on her side, her palm resting gently against her flat stomach.

Noah had said this child was tough, a survivor, just like her.

But she didn't feel lucky.

It felt as though she had used up a lifetime of luck just to meet Rhys twenty-five years ago, only to lose every last bit of it in the end.

"Stop touching it," Simon said, his voice softening. " seeing you hold your stomach makes me panic."

He unscrewed the lid of the thermos. "The hospital cafeteria food is garbage, so I had a friend pick up some nourishing soup from that Cantonese place you like."

He poured a bowl, stirred it gently to cool it, and brought a spoonful to Clara's lips. "Eat a little. For the sake of..."

His eyes darted to her stomach, and he swallowed the rest of the sentence, pivoting quickly. "For the energy to curse out that scumbag."

Clara had no appetite, her mouth tasting bitter, but she opened her mouth and accepted the spoon.

"Where's Emily?"

"Left early," Simon said with a twitch of his lips. "Her Highness needed her beauty sleep. She was all awkward before she left, though. She swiped your dirty bag, said she was taking it to the spa for a deep clean and would bring it back in a couple of days."

Clara's eyes crinkled slightly. "She's not a bad person. She just has a sharp tongue."

"Yeah, she's alright. If she hadn't driven you here yesterday, I wouldn't be feeding you soup right now; I'd be planning a funeral."

Simon fed her the last of the soup, pulled a tissue to wipe her mouth, and hesitated before speaking. "Clara, about this... are you really not going to tell your parents?"

Clara leaned back against the soft pillow, staring at the bare tree branches outside the window.

For years, her parents had believed that while Rhys was busy, he was a good, family-oriented son-in-law.

If they knew the truth, the ones hurt most wouldn't be her—it would be the parents who loved her.

"Let's keep it from them for now," she said. "If my dad knew I almost lost the baby because Rhys was holed up in a hotel with another woman, he'd probably storm into the station ready to kill him."

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