Goodbye, Mr. Regret

The other kids were already busy, their little hands hard at work.

Henry, however, sat perfectly still, not making a move.

He was deep in thought, torn by a single question: Whose likeness should he cut out? Sheila's or Jessica's?

He'd always pretended in public that Sheila was his mother, and his father had never objected. But now, suddenly, his father had forbidden it.

If only his mother hadn't shown up today, none of this would be a problem. He could have just made his paper silhouette look like Sheila and avoided all this trouble.

But now his mother was here, and worse, she was the head judge. If he made his mother's silhouette look like Sheila, she'd definitely give him a low score.

Henry was the best at paper cutting in his whole class, and everyone expected him to win a prize at the competition. If he didn't, it would be humiliating.

But if he chose to make his mother's likeness, as soon as she opened her mouth -well, she couldn't speak, and everyone would laugh at her. Worse, they'd laugh at him, the son of a mute woman.

He was completely conflicted, paralyzed by indecision.

Both his parents were strikingly good-looking. If he managed to capture their features well, he was sure he'd win. But if his work didn't turn out right, he could kiss the prize goodbye.

It was all his mother's fault, really. She'd never liked going out before, and if only she'd stayed home where she belonged, none of this would've happened.

She'd ruined everything.

after minute ticked by. Henry still

brow furrowed, leaned close to Timothy and whispered, "Why hasn't Henry

a photo of Sheila and Timothy, their faces so

tatters. How could he still have the nerve to refuse a divorce? Marquis barely had to lift a finger-evidence

almost laughable, how easy this case would

Mr. Zimmerman's bravery and his willingness to stand up to Timothy, even

in its originality—so unique it could only belong to an heir of The

tone was cool and dismissive. "Leave him

gaze remained fixed

watching the children on stage, her

simple, elegant handmade dress-a light, natural fabric paired with a contrasting wrap. Her long hair was braided and rested loosely over her left shoulder, giving her a quietly artistic ainthat perfectly matched

had rarely seen her look like

to Jessica, and

woman—so quiet

surface, but

act. She knew