Goodbye, Mr. Regret

Jessica stepped out of Herbert's car.

Herbert got out as well, slipping his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. He watched her go, his expression soft, his gaze lingering as she walked toward the house.

She'd barely taken a few steps when his voice called out, quiet but clear. "Little Mute."

Jessica turned back.

Herbert's lips parted, as if he'd meant to say something else, but he simply said, "Goodnight."

Jessica smiled and signed goodnight in sign language.

Herbert stood there, motionless, watching until she disappeared inside.

Upstairs, Timothy pinched his cigarette between his fingers, snapping it in half. The glowing tip scattered sparks onto the floor. He turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

Ding-

Jessica keyed in her code. The door swung open. She hadn't even reached for the light switch when strong arms swept her inside, pinning her against the door as someone's lips crashed onto hers.

A faint scent of tobacco, edged with cedar, filled her senses.

It took only a moment for her to realize it was Timothy.

She tried to pull away, but he'd already trapped her wrists, his grip iron-strong, his body pressing her immobile.

was nowhere

was flat against the door, the cool wood biting through her clothes, chilling her to

breath mingling with hers, as if he wanted to consume her

Jessica's nerves sparked

up. Tears pricked at her

resistance, feeble against his strength,

finally managed to cup Timothy's face with both hands, he seemed to think she was surrendering, leaning

But then-crack.

palm landed hard against his

fingerprints blooming on his skin. Whatever desperate need had been

and

chest, her breath coming in shaky gasps. Her tear-filled eyes glared at

some wrinkles in his suit jacket, looked every bit the composed man he pretended to be. But his eyes, dark and bottomless, brimmed with barely

trembled with unshed tears, her silent accusation

voice broke the silence, cold and flat. "What,

spent the

the two of them. Who knew

Jessica was asking for a divorce. How could

him after that? Her shirt was already missing buttons, torn by

him, battered and furious, her movements sharp as she signed angrily, I told you-I

curling his