The Officer's Runaway Wife and Secret Son novel Chapter 477

Clara's dad, his eyes red, gripped Rhys's arm tightly.

"Good… good boy. It's good you're back."

Clara stood to the side, watching as Rhys patiently soothed her parents and as Felix basked in his grandmother's embrace.

"Let's go inside," she said. "It's windy and cold out here."

Once inside, Clara's dad wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and turned toward the liquor cabinet in the living room.

It was the glass door he rarely opened, the one holding his prized collection.

He pulled a mahogany box from the very back. Clara's mom, holding Felix, saw what her husband was doing but didn't try to stop him.

"Go wash your hands. I'll heat up the food and whip up a couple more side dishes to go with the drinks."

She set Felix down and went into the kitchen, secretly wiping a tear from the corner of her eye as she turned away.

The mahogany box was placed on the dining table. Clara's dad unfastened the metal latch and took out a bottle of liquor.

It was an aged bottle he had treasured for over twenty years.

From Clara getting into college, to her wedding, to the birth of Felix, he had always said he would open it for New Year's or a major family celebration, but he had never touched it.

"Rhys, what happened today… you're not to blame."

"Dad, I…"

Clara's dad waved his hand, cutting him off. He took two small ceramic cups and filled them to the brim. The rich, mellow aroma of the liquor filled the small dining room.

Clara frowned slightly as she looked at the bottle on the table.

The doctor had warned him repeatedly to avoid alcohol and cigarettes, but today was different. They all needed some kind of anchor.

She said nothing, pulling out a chair and sitting down beside Rhys.

Clara's dad raised his cup, his voice still thick with emotion.

"This afternoon, I lost Felix. My heart felt like it was being fried in oil. Your mother and I only have one daughter, Clara, and Clara only has this one son. For the past few years, Felix has been her life, and our life too."

He looked at Rhys, his eyes full of feeling. "Let's not talk about the past. The pain Clara suffered, the hardships you endured… you've both gotten through them over these years."

Clara's dad drank his own cup. The clattering of pots and pans came from the kitchen, and Clara's mom emerged with two plates of salad.

"Let's eat."

The meal was quiet, yet more peaceful and reassuring than any they had shared before.

From that one cup of strong liquor, a faint blush had spread across Clara's face and remained there.

She used to be able to hold her liquor, at least better than Emily, but she mostly drank wine, cocktails, or beer. She rarely touched spirits.

In recent years, she hardly drank at all except when she was with Emily and the others. That, combined with the strong kick of the aged liquor, made her eyes start to glaze over halfway through the meal. Her movements became sluggish as she picked at her food.

Rhys had been watching her closely.

He put down his fork and ladled a bowl of soup, placing it beside her. "Here, drink some soup. It'll help."

Clara turned her head to look at him.

The overhead light of the living room reflected in her eyes, melting the ice that had coated them for years, revealing the softness underneath.