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.

the nightstand and picked

It was Phelps.

"Grandpa."

Why don't you come

bed, phone

day of the holiday is my birthday. Bring Jessica and Henry home, will

"Alright."

raised

for that one falling-out seven years

call, Timothy sent a

where you are right now-you need to

see the message

past seven years, she'd simply seen him as the stern patriarch of

never dared hope the Lawson family

always did her best-showing respect and patience to

major emotional outbursts

more than a

the old

of holding on

Everything was becoming clearer.