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.

slow burn of frustration flared in Timothy's chest. Lately, everything

voice dropped,

a stack of papers from

Agreement* stared back at him, sharp

crumpled the papers in his fist and tossed them

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

in sign language, her movements sharp. *What is a

a husband who's always away on business, who brings

wall where their wedding photo once hung, her hands still moving. *Or is it that you can't

eyes to the

his head, meeting

a moment, a faint smile curved Timothy's

fight, expecting their argument to end with him storming out-a perfect

But she recovered quickly.

subject,* she signed, her

"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 many as you like. Forget about that old