The Officer's Runaway Wife & Secret Son novel Chapter 373

The motion-activated light in the stairwell flickered on and off, again and again.

Clara stayed in the stairwell for a long time.

At first, she cried, the tears flowing uncontrollably.

For Noah's words, "Don't look back," and for the man lying in the hospital bed, whose every breath carried the scent of blood.

When she had cried herself out, she just sat there, staring blankly at a spot on the railing where the paint had chipped.

She even began to regret ever going to Ashton University, ever meeting Rhys that year.

After forcing herself to calm down, Clara dragged her numb legs back to the hospital room.

The man on the bed was still asleep. Clara didn't dare turn on the main light.

At one point, a nurse came in to remove the IV needle. Seeing him sleeping so soundly, she was a little surprised and casually remarked, "This is rare. Mr. Huntington is actually asleep."

Clara asked what she meant, and the nurse explained that every time he'd been hospitalized before, he was always awake during her rounds, day or night. Unless he was unconscious, she had never seen him properly asleep.

After finishing, the nurse looked up and smiled at Clara. "You must be his wife, right? I knew it. He's sleeping so deeply tonight because he has you here with him. It must have put his mind at ease."

Clara froze.

"Keep an eye on his temperature tonight. If he runs a fever in the middle of the night, press the call button," the nurse instructed before leaving with her tray.

The door clicked shut.

Clara looked down at the man on the bed, taking a long moment to process what she'd heard.

Never properly asleep?

How had he gotten through all those days she hadn't known about? Just staring at the ceiling until dawn?

Her heart ached even more. She let out a breath, unwilling to think about it any longer.

From Clear Creek to Brighton City, from the hotel to the hospital, it felt like she had torn her life apart all over again.

Her emotions had been on a rollercoaster, and she was exhausted.

She washed her face and returned to lie down on the sofa, intending only to rest her eyes for a moment. But her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and she drifted into unconsciousness.

He didn't dare make a sound, terrified that the slightest noise would wake her, and he'd have to watch her grab her bag and leave again.

Rhys got out of bed, carefully moved to the side of the sofa, and knelt down.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see Clara's face clearly.

She was covered with his overcoat, tear stains still on the corners of her eyes, her expression troubled.

He stared at her for a long time, so long that his eyes began to burn and sting, so long that the suffocating feeling in his chest returned.

Clara used to be so delicate, a paper cut on her finger was enough to make her run to him crying. Now she was curled up on this hard, narrow sofa.

It was all because of him.

Rhys reached out, his hand hovering over her brow.

His fingers trembled. He held them there for a long time but ultimately didn't dare to touch her.

He knew Clara was only staying because she was soft-hearted, because she was kind, because she couldn't bear to watch someone die in front of her.