The Officer's Runaway Wife & Secret Son novel Chapter 405

A dull ache spread through Clara's chest. She slowly pulled her hand back.

"I can't teach you." She turned her head away, refusing to look at him. "If you really don't know how to live, then go back to your Huntington family."

"There are plenty of people there who can tell you how to be a proper heir. You won't have to think for yourself."

With that, she turned and walked directly to the guest room. Rhys didn't follow, nor did he reach out to stop her again.

Felix was coloring in one of his drawings. Clara walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.

The little boy took one look at her, then put down his crayon, slid off his chair, and climbed onto the bed to wrap his arms around Clara's neck.

"Is Mommy unhappy?" Felix murmured, pressing his cheek against hers.

Clara hugged her son tightly. "I'm not unhappy, Mommy's just a little tired."

Felix patted her back understandingly.

"Then I'll tell Mommy a story, and after the story, Mommy can go to sleep."

Her heart ached at the gentle pat of his small hand.

She held Felix, shifted to lean against the headboard, pulled a thin blanket over them both, and dimmed the bedside lamp, listening as her son recited stories from his picture books.

It wasn't long before he talked himself to sleep. His words slowed, his voice grew softer, and finally, his little head tilted to the side, and he fell asleep soundly in the crook of Clara's arm.

By the faint light of the small lamp, Clara gazed at her son's face, which bore a strong resemblance to the man outside. She lay with him for a long time.

When she came out, the living room lights were off. But Rhys hadn't left. He was leaning back on the sofa, head tilted up, long legs bent, and hands clasped over his stomach. Even his breathing was faint.

Clara didn't bother to wonder what he was thinking or if he was asleep. She tiptoed back to her room and locked the door.

On the sofa, the man's eyelashes fluttered, but he didn't open his eyes.

Clara sat down at her desk, set up her phone on a stand, adjusted the angle, and started her live stream.

He sat up straight, glanced toward the guest bedroom, put on his headphones, and tapped on the familiar profile picture.

It was a voice that sounded different from when he heard it in person.

Rhys closed his eyes and listened quietly.

"What if there was someone who, because of his own character flaws and the trauma from his upbringing, hurt you very deeply? When you needed him most, he was never there. He gave the devotion and responsibility that should have been yours to someone else, even if that person was just an object of his atonement."

"You struggled alone for a long time, and when you finally couldn't take it anymore, you left him, covered in scars and filled with hate."

The live stream chat was flooded with comments like "scumbag," "run," and "never forgive him."

Clara looked at the expected responses and continued:

"But many years later, you find out that things might not have been what you thought. Everything he did was to keep you from learning some ugly truths. To protect you, he was willing to give up his life. He even wrote a will long ago, with you as the sole beneficiary."

"Now he's sick, very sick. To keep you, to make it up to you, he's willing to give up the career he was most proud of. He's willing to retreat into the family, to turn himself into a completely selfless accessory whose only thought each day is how to please you and take care of you. He's willing to give up everything—his dignity, his ideals, his future—just to beg you not to leave."