The Officer's Runaway Wife & Secret Son novel Chapter 181

It was early April, and the gloomy drizzle had persisted for three days, draping the city in a cold, gray mist.

"Are you seriously going?"

Downstairs, Simon stood by the car holding a large black umbrella, his expression set in stubborn disapproval as Clara stepped out of the building. He was totally against this.

"The wind is strong up there, and the roads are slippery. Given your current condition, if Noah and your mother find out you went climbing around a cemetery, they'll kill me."

"It's not like his dad's buried on a mountain," Clara said, brushing off his fussing as she pulled her black coat closed and slid into the car. "Besides, I have to go."

"Why?" Simon hopped into the driver's seat.

"His father died a hero in the line of duty. I've paid my respects for four years. Now that I'm leaving, I need to say a proper goodbye."

She said it so lightly that the hundreds of admonitions Simon had prepared were forced back down his throat.

He knew the history. Every year, a week before the anniversary, Clara would start preparing. She would order the finest flowers, buy the best scotch, and even hand-write letters to burn at the grave, joking that she wanted to ensure her father-in-law was well-funded and entertained in the afterlife. Simon used to tease her for being superstitious, but Clara would just say, "You don't understand. It's the thought that counts."

There were two years Rhys couldn't get away because of work, and she went alone—because someone still had to show up for him. She would stand before the headstone for a long time, rambling about everything that had happened at home that year, always reporting the good news and hiding the bad.

She would tell him Rhys had received another commendation or a medal, that Grandfather Huntington was in good health, and that she was doing well—that everything was fine.

Just thinking about it put a tightness in Simon's throat. She had given her whole heart to the Huntington family. And the result? Not one of them cherished it.

The Memorial Gardens sat on the west side of Brighton, a solemn place lined with pines and cypress. Due to the rain, visitors were sparse.

Clara told Simon to wait at the entrance. Clutching a bouquet of white lilies, she opened her umbrella and walked in alone.

"Don't be scared, Peanut. Mommy's taking you to see Grandpa," she whispered softly to her belly. "Even though your daddy is a piece of work, your grandpa was a great hero."

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify