The Officer's Runaway Wife and Secret Son novel Chapter 537

"Clara, please follow me," the director said, breaking the heavy silence.

Clara followed the director and Sophia to the back door of the classroom.

A rectangular glass window on the door offered a full view of the room.

It was music class. A teacher played children's songs on an electric keyboard up front. A row of little chairs was lined up, filled with squirming three- and four-year-olds who couldn't sit still for the life of them.

Clara immediately spotted Felix sitting on a small blue chair in the corner.

He sat bolt upright, his little hands resting perfectly on his knees. He clapped and sang along with textbook precision.

Whenever the teacher's gaze swept over him, he would smile.

A sweet, polite smile that crinkled his eyes and showed off his little teeth.

Was this abnormal?

Clara couldn't comprehend it.

She thought back to Heron Bay, when Felix wasn't even two yet. If her mother refused to give him grapes, he would throw himself on the floor and wail, refusing to get up no matter how much they coaxed him.

When did he change?

She couldn't pinpoint an exact moment.

It seemed to happen slowly, day by day, little by little.

Clara stood silently outside the glass window for the duration of the song.

"During music class, most children focus on the song itself or their playmates," Sophia explained. "But Felix spends more than half his time analyzing the teacher's mood so he can adjust his own reaction. In developmental psychology, this is a classic sign of over-adaptation."

"He should..." Sophia searched for the right words. "...allow himself to be a little messier."

"Thank you," Clara said, pulling her gaze away. "I understand the situation. I will discuss this with his father and figure it out."

The director and Sophia exchanged a look.

They had likely seen every possible reaction from parents receiving this kind of evaluation. Some dismissed it as an overreaction; others broke down in tears.

Clara's composed response was rare.

As she walked out the front gates of the preschool, Clara's eyes burned with a dry, stinging ache.

She pulled out her phone and dialed Rhys's number.

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