Goodbye, Mr. Regret

"She's here for the comic convention. I actually made a whole book of paper-cut illustrations for her. I wonder if she'll like it?"

Jessica's throat tightened.

She watched as Timothy and Henry stepped into the elevator together.

She was the one who had taught Henry how to make those paper-cut illustrations.

Most kids loved cartoons, and since she couldn't speak, she'd worried Henry might get bored when she watched him. After each show, she'd sit with him and do crafts, cutting out his favorite cartoon characters, making up little stories, and pasting them into a scrapbook.

Henry used to praise her for how pretty her paper-cuts looked, and in time, he'd learned to do it alongside her.

They'd created so many of those illustrated scrapbooks together.

Henry once promised that when he could finish a whole book by himself, the very first one would be for his mom.

Jessica never expected that day would come so soon-that Henry could already make a whole scrapbook on his own.

Her face pale, Jessica stepped wordlessly into the elevator.

Back in her room, a dull ache burned in her stomach, and fatigue pressed down like a heavy blanket.

She poured herself a glass of water, took some medicine, and lay down to rest. Her sleep was restless, haunted by shadows. In the end, a nightmare jolted her awake.

dreamed of that fire from

was already seven

an old town

beside a lake, each night at eight, crowds would gather along

the Silverthread River back in Riverside City-where fireworks burst over the water every evening. If you dined at The Silverthread Eatery, the view from the

show. The Silverthread Eatery was less than thirty minutes from The Gilded Whisper Estates, but in seven years, Timothy had never taken her. Not

the man she loved. If Timothy wouldn't

wish was shelved and

with her days numbered, she owed herself this one

her face, threw on a coat, and

crowds

walked hand-in-hand, whispering, some stealing kisses beneath the

offering roses to every

city of eternal spring. Almost every rose in the country came from here so many varieties, in colors

own love story had never involved roses. In truth, it

gaze away

was

sharp boom, the first firework

lit up the dusk, scattering color