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.

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

dropped, shadowed with

a stack of papers from beside her, and handed them

Agreement* stared back at him, sharp as a slap. Jessica had

papers in his fist and tossed them into the

Jessica, his tone crisp. "You'd throw away a perfectly good life. What exactly is it

language, her movements sharp. *What is a 'perfectly

husband who's always away on business, who brings another woman to parent-teacher day and

once hung, her hands still moving. *Or is

the empty

his head, meeting Jessica's cool, clear

faint smile curved Timothy's lips, and his voice softened.

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

But she recovered quickly.

change the subject,* she signed, her gestures

paused, then 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