The Officer's Runaway Wife & Secret Son novel Chapter 371

Clara hadn't left.

In the silence, Rhys finally relaxed and drifted off to sleep, though his breathing was still labored.

He fell into a deep sleep, and Clara, sitting in the visitor's chair, watched his face.

When he was asleep, the fierce, cold expression vanished. His face was still so handsome it was hard to look away.

But his brows were furrowed, the lines between them deepening. His lips were pale, and there were silver strands hidden at his temples.

It was only in this moment that Clara truly felt it: he was genuinely sick, and he was getting old.

Thirty-five was supposed to be a man's prime.

Most men his age were still mapping out their futures, so how could a doctor say he didn't have long to live?

"The situation is dire."

"It's not a matter of how many years he has left."

"There wasn't even a chance to get him to the hospital."

She'd told him two days of an IV drip would fix him. She'd lied to him, and she didn't know if he'd believed her.

The man in the bed seemed fine for now, but Clara felt as if she'd been thrown into a vacuum-sealed jar. The air had been sucked out, and her chest ached with a suffocating pressure.

As he lay there, his lungs felt like a sponge slowly drying out, gradually losing their ability to breathe.

If he pushed himself just one more time, went on one more mission, that sponge would harden completely, and he would suffocate.

As she watched him, her eyes grew hot, and her vision blurred.

She was terrified that the green line on the monitor would suddenly go flat. Terrified that the world would no longer have Rhys in it.

She was terrified that Felix would truly be without a father, that the man who would show up at kindergarten in his police uniform to stand up for her would become a black-and-white photograph.

Her phone suddenly vibrated.

Clara snapped back to reality, instinctively glancing at the hospital bed.

Rhys seemed to have been disturbed. His eyelids fluttered, and he mumbled, "Clara."

"...I'm here."

Clara responded, gently patting the blanket twice.

Hearing her voice, the lines on Rhys's brow softened, and he settled down again.

Once his breathing steadied, Clara took out her phone.

Noah Carter: [Are you still in the ER?]

Clara stared at the message for a long time before replying:

[Not anymore. We're in the respiratory ward.]

Less than two seconds after she sent the message, a reply came back: [Okay, I'm on my way.]

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