The Officer's Runaway Wife and Secret Son novel Chapter 559

Over the next few days, Rhys underwent aggressive rehabilitation therapy at the hospital.

Miraculously, he hadn't sustained any catastrophic physical trauma. His collapse was purely the result of acute oxygen deprivation and extreme cardiopulmonary overload, triggered by pushing his body to the absolute limit.

However, the devastating strain inevitably accelerated the aggressive spread of his pulmonary fibrosis.

Dr. Black pulled Clara into his office for a private consultation.

They were rapidly running out of conservative treatment options. Pumping him full of drugs and relying on oxygen machines was no longer sustainable; he urgently needed a viable lung transplant.

And if they didn't find one in time?

Clara was too terrified to ask the question.

Voicing it out loud meant acknowledging the horrific reality of the answer.

It would be fine. They just had to wait.

There were thousands of hospitals and massive national databases. A match was bound to turn up. He was already on the priority list. They just had to hold on.

She repeated the mantra over and over in her head until her lips violently trembled. Finally, fighting back a suffocating wave of despair, she staggered out of the office.

She never breathed a word of the doctor's grim prognosis to Rhys.

She kept her agonizing silence, and he never pressed her for the truth.

He diligently swallowed his pills and endured every excruciating scan without complaint.

She brought Felix back home. Every morning, after dropping him off at kindergarten, she rushed straight to the hospital to stand vigil, only leaving to pick him up right as the final bell rang.

Felix had asked twice about why his dad hadn't come home yet.

The first time was over dinner. He tilted his head, staring at the empty seat across from him. "Is Dad's secret mission really hard?"

"It's a little tough, but he's incredible. He'll be finished before you know it."

The second time was right before bed. Tucked under his covers, he asked, "Will he tell me all about it when he gets back?"

"He absolutely will."

Mother and son maintained their daily routine. They ate, read bedtime stories, brushed their teeth, and went to sleep.

From dawn to dusk, bleeding into the dead of night.

During the day, she was the impossibly organized, flawless Clara. She managed every crisis, handled every detail, and never allowed a single crack to show in her armor.

But the nights were a completely different story.

All the suffocating terror she violently suppressed during the day would claw its way to the surface the moment the house fell silent.

Her insomnia became increasingly unbearable.

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