Goodbye, Mr. Regret

"The press claims they've spotted your mysterious wife..."

Timothy paused, a flicker of something complicated in his sharp eyes.

He was no longer the same Timothy who'd grown up alongside her. Years of navigating the business world had left him more composed, more inscrutable than

ever.

Sheila realized she could no longer read him the way she once did.

After a moment, he finally replied, his voice even. "It doesn't matter."

Sheila blinked, momentarily thrown. Did he really not care at all?

She tried again, gently. "But Jessica is your wife."

"She has the marriage certificate. If that piece of paper can't give her peace of mind, then she's being rather foolish, isn't she?"

Sheila hesitated, thinking it over. "Alright then. I just didn't want her to overthink. That's all I wanted to say. You should get some rest."

"Mm."

Timothy said nothing more, and Sheila quietly left the room.

He lit a cigarette, his gaze falling to the velvet box on the table. Rising, he tucked the box away in his suitcase.

Just then, his phone rang.

nightstand

It was Phelps.

"Grandpa."

old house. Why

the edge of the bed, phone pressed

my birthday. Bring Jessica and Henry home, will you?

"Alright."

had raised

falling-out seven years

call, Timothy sent

where you are right

was already asleep. She didn't see the message until

as the stern patriarch of

Timothy's. She'd never dared

always did her best-showing respect and patience to every member of the

entered the picture, Phelps' two major

eyes, she was nothing more than a tool to

bad the old man's

never capable of holding

Everything was becoming clearer.