The Officer's Runaway Wife and Secret Son novel Chapter 497

Rhys was still holding the piece of paper, his gaze fixed on the earnest, hopeful eyes before him until they blurred.

He wrapped his arms around Felix, pulling him into a tight embrace as his shoulders began to tremble uncontrollably.

*The cemetery, when he was thirteen.*

After the service, the mourners filed out one by one. The sound of Veronica West’s high heels clicking on the stone path faded into the distance. She never once looked back.

*The Huntington estate, when he was sixteen.*

Mia was still abroad, and there was no one in the Huntington family who was kind to him. On New Year's Eve, he sat alone in his bedroom. The holiday special played on the television, and the festive dinner grew cold, untouched by his fork.

*Oakridge Avenue, when he was thirty-three.*

It was the third New Year's Eve since Clara had left. He had two glasses beside him—one for his drink, and one poured for her. No one came to drink it.

He had been alone for so long. Every New Year’s Eve, he told himself he didn't want this, didn't need it.

He had compartmentalized his heart, weighing everything on the cold scales of logic.

In this world, no one was indispensable. Not blood relatives, not spouses, not any form of emotional connection.

He had reaffirmed this conclusion during countless lonely nights, hammering it into his mind like a nail, over and over.

But Felix’s piece of paper had just pulled out every single nail.

His suppressed breathing finally gave way to ragged sobs, which then erupted into unrestrained weeping.

Hot tears streamed down the man’s face, landing on Felix’s festive red jacket and leaving small, dark patches in their wake.

He couldn’t hold it in any longer.

The little, shattered Rhys who had been abandoned in the cemetery was finally being pieced back together, bit by bit, by his son’s hand-drawn piece of paper.

He no longer had to pretend. He could finally release the grief and fear he had bottled up for over twenty years in a place where he felt completely safe.

For a few seconds, the living room was silent.

Everyone heard the muffled, suppressed, and broken sounds of Rhys’s grief against Felix’s shoulder.

“This damn New Year's special is so loud it’s making my eyes water.”

Simon abruptly stood up and threw out the line gruffly. He grabbed a still-dazed Alex, saying, “Come on, let’s go to the balcony and watch the fireworks.”

Once Rhys had composed himself, she pulled a tissue from the box and handed it to him.

“Go wash your face. Aunt Mia and the family are coming tomorrow for New Year’s Day. If they see your eyes all swollen, they might think I was bullying you on a holiday.”

Rhys clutched the tissue and turned to look at Clara.

Her gaze was calm and accepting. There was no mockery of his breakdown, only an understanding that ran deeper than words.

But with his in-laws just beyond the sliding glass door to the balcony, their backs visible through the glass, he ultimately didn’t dare do anything rash.

He just managed a soft “Mm-hmm” and got up to head to the washroom.

Once he was gone, the four on the balcony came back inside. Clara's mom was the first one in.

Wiping her own tears, she gently chided Felix, “You little rascal, saying things like that on New Year’s Eve. Look what you did to your father…”

“I didn’t say anything wrong,” Felix protested, certain he was right, and buried himself in Clara’s arms. “Did I, Mommy?”

Clara smiled and kissed her son’s forehead. “No, you didn’t. Felix is the bravest man I know.”

When Rhys returned from the washroom, he was completely calm again. Except for the slight redness around his eyes, he was back to his usual steady, dependable self.