The Officer's Runaway Wife & Secret Son novel Chapter 396

Rhys glanced at the knife, then at Clara’s expressionless face. She really did find him a nuisance in her way.

He pressed his lips together and obediently retreated.

But he didn’t go far. He just pulled up a chair and sat by the doorway, watching her with a longing gaze.

Felix, crouching on the floor and playing with the cat, looked at him with disdain. “Daddy, you’re so hopeless.”

Rhys gave a bitter smile. “I really am.”

He couldn’t even find an opportunity to help. Utterly hopeless.

Felix dangled the feather toy, chattering away. “Mommy doesn’t like people hovering around when she’s cooking. Daddy Noah used to try to sneak a bite or help out, and Mommy would always smack his hand and kick him out.”

Rhys latched onto one name.

“Noah ate here often?”

“Well, he didn’t come home that often,” Felix said thoughtfully. “And Mommy doesn’t cook that often either. But when she does, Daddy Noah is in charge of washing the dishes.”

The faint smile on Rhys’s lips vanished, replaced by a flat line.

Even though he knew nothing was going on between Clara and Noah, hearing these details still made a sour feeling well up inside him.

Another man had been a part of her life, shared her household chores, and enjoyed these warm, domestic dinners with her.

He didn't even have the right to be jealous.

But compared to what Clara had endured, his current discomfort was nothing.

He was the one who had forfeited that time, who had pushed her into someone else’s life.

A sizzling sound came from the kitchen, and a fragrant aroma soon wafted out.

Rhys couldn’t sit still any longer.

He told Felix to go watch TV, then got up and walked to the kitchen doorway, trying to inch his way inside again.

Clara, annoyed by his staring, turned and glared at him. “Are you that bored?”

Rhys nodded. “Yeah, I am.”

He hadn't been reinstated yet. Besides recovering, his biggest mission was watching over her.

“If you’re so bored, go peel some garlic.” Clara grabbed a head of garlic and tossed it at him.

Rhys caught it like a precious treasure and began peeling it diligently.

Neither of them spoke again.

Half an hour later, dinner was on the table.

Clara had made a simple meal: spaghetti bolognese, beef stew, and a mushroom soup.

Rhys’s half-fried fish was unsalvageable, so he had made roast chicken with vegetables.

The dishes filled half the dining table.

The meal was far from lively.

When he was very little, Clara and the nanny had bathed him. As he got older, Simon and Alex took over.

So today, holding his little water gun, he was especially happy.

For Rhys, this was also the first time he had ever truly experienced what “family time” meant.

He looked at the small body, unsure of where to even put his hands.

They were scarred and calloused; he was afraid of scraping the child’s delicate skin.

“Daddy, wash my hair,” Felix said, handing him the shampoo bottle. He closed his eyes and tilted his little head forward.

Rhys knelt by the tub, doing his best to keep the suds from getting into the boy’s eyes.

He rinsed, dried, and used the hairdryer to fluff up his hair until it was soft and light.

The little guy, dressed in his pajamas, was full of energy. He hugged Orange the cat and pattered off to his room.

It was a small guest room, temporarily serving as his bedroom.

He pulled Rhys into a game of building blocks, then they drew in a coloring book. Finally, after rolling around on the bed a few times, he said, “Daddy, tell me a story.”

Rhys sat on the edge of the bed and watched the clock tick past eleven. He suddenly understood his teammates who were fathers.

He used to hear them complain that putting a kid to bed was hard work, tough on both the throat and the brain.

Looking at the little boy whose eyes were still shining brightly, he felt his teammates hadn’t exaggerated one bit.