The Officer's Runaway Wife & Secret Son novel Chapter 376

She submerged herself completely, turning the water up until it was almost scalding. Her skin quickly flushed a pale pink, but her hands and feet still felt ice-cold.

Her phone sat on the shelf beside the tub, its screen lit up. The browser was filled with related search terms.

[Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis]

[Survival Rate of Acute Exacerbation of Pulmonary Fibrosis]

[Lung Transplant Rejection]

A median survival of three to five years. A mortality rate exceeding fifty percent during an acute exacerbation.

Once the acute phase begins, the lungs harden, unable to exchange oxygen, and the patient suffocates.

She didn't understand the technical jargon, but she recognized the numbers. She could imagine the descriptions.

Clara slid down until the water closed over her head.

Bubbles rose to the surface as water flooded her ears, muffling the world into a dull silence. Even her heartbeat amplified into a heavy, thudding drum.

She opened her eyes underwater.

The air in her chest dwindled, bit by bit. Her lungs began to spasm and ache with an instinctive need for oxygen, the primal urge for survival screaming at her to surface.

Is this what he would feel?

If these next few years were truly his last, what was she supposed to do?

Could she harden her heart and return to Heron Bay, to a respectable life everyone envied, only to one day receive a phone call summoning her to his funeral?

Or should she stay, listen as his breathing grew fainter and fainter, and finally watch him die right in front of her?

No matter which path she chose, a bottomless abyss awaited.

With a splash, Clara broke the surface. Water streamed down her chin, and it was impossible to tell if the wetness on her face was from the bath or from her tears.

Her phone rang. Clara wiped her face and answered.

Simon Walker laid into her without preamble. "Clara, did you die in Brighton City or something? Do you have any idea what time it is? You were supposed to get back to me last night!"

Hearing her friend’s voice, the composure she had desperately maintained at the hospital and the despair she had suppressed underwater finally found an outlet.

Tears fell in fat drops, splashing into the bathwater.

"Simon."

She said his name, her voice trembling uncontrollably.

The other end of the line went silent for two seconds.

For emotional entanglements—infidelity, betrayal, misunderstandings—he had a hundred ways to talk sense into Clara, to drag her back to Heron Bay if he had to.

But in this situation, no one could say a word.

They were all adults. Some choices, once made, became a lifetime of regret or torment.

Simon lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

"Noah knows, right? He let you go, didn't he?"

Clara didn't answer, which was an admission in itself.

"If you can't leave, then don't force it," Simon said. "How long are you planning to leave Felix alone in Heron Bay? Or are you just going to keep it from him? What if something really happens to Rhys one day? Are you going to let his own father die without him even getting to say goodbye?"

The bathwater was starting to cool. Clara stared at the rippling surface, her mind a chaotic mess.

She was afraid of hurting Felix with the truth, but she was also afraid he would have regrets if he never knew it.

Hearing the silence on her end, Simon added, "Think about it. Felix has a right to know. He's a mature kid, but that doesn't mean you can just erase that man's existence for him."

"That's his father. The man he wanted to send a birthday invitation to."

The call ended. The last of the ash from Simon's cigarette fell onto the table.