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.

of frustration flared in Timothy's chest. Lately, everything felt as if it were

voice dropped,

down, picked up a stack of papers from beside her,

at him, sharp as a slap. Jessica had

tightened. He crumpled the papers in his fist and tossed them

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

sign language, her movements sharp.

smile and continued, her hands steady. *Tell me, Timothy. Is a 'good life' a husband who's always away on business, who brings

still moving. *Or is it that you can't even

to the empty space on the

meeting Jessica's cool,

a moment, a faint smile curved Timothy's lips, and

for a fight, expecting their argument to end with

But she recovered quickly.

change the subject,* she signed, her

spoke, his voice gentler than before. "I'm the one who took down the photo. You wanted proper wedding pictures, didn't you? I'll arrange it. We'll go together, take as