Goodbye, Mr. Regret

The house felt cold and empty.

At least Mabel greeted them, stepping forward to take Timothy's coat and bag, hanging them up with practiced care.

Timothy frowned slightly.

"Where's my wife?"

"She's upstairs, in her room."

His brow furrowed deeper. "Has she eaten?"

"Mrs. Carter said she wasn't hungry..."

Timothy didn't hesitate. He went straight upstairs and opened the bedroom door. Jessica sat at her desk, a pair of scissors in hand, focused on cutting out delicate patterns from a piece of paper.

He walked over. Jessica didn't even look up at the sound of his footsteps.

Leaning against the desk, Timothy gazed down at her. "So, you're not making dinner, and you're not eating either?"

Jessica continued snipping the paper, blatantly ignoring him.

in Timothy's chest. Lately, everything felt as if it were slipping

dropped, shadowed

a stack of papers from beside her, and handed

sharp as a slap. Jessica had already signed

the papers in his fist

cast a cool, sideways glance at Jessica, his tone crisp. "You'd throw away a

in sign language, her movements sharp. *What is

bitter smile and continued, her hands steady. *Tell me, Timothy. Is a 'good life' a husband who's always away on business, who brings another woman to parent-teacher day and

flicked to the bare wall where their wedding photo once hung, her hands still moving. *Or is it that you can't even stand to see

followed her eyes to the empty space on

meeting Jessica's

curved Timothy's lips, and his voice softened. "Jealous,

she'd been ready for a fight, expecting their argument to end with him storming

But she recovered quickly.

signed, her gestures

proper wedding pictures, didn't you? I'll arrange it.