Goodbye, Mr. Regret

Before Timothy had even finished speaking with the family doctor for the Lawsons, his phone buzzed again—this time it was Naylor Lawson, sounding frantic.

"Timothy, you need to get to the hospital, quick! Your grandfather just collapsed!"

Timothy's response was curt. "If he's collapsed, call the doctor. What do you want me to do? I'm not a doctor-I can't treat him."

Without waiting for an answer, he hung up.

On the other end, Naylor glared at the phone in frustration. "That ungrateful brat! Even when his grandfather falls ill, he won't come home!"

Realizing his ruse wasn't working, Phelps opened his eyes and snapped, "You two, think of something! I want Timothy back here now!"

Naylor blinked, confused. "Dad, you're not even unconscious?"

Phelps shot him a glare. "What, disappointed I'm still breathing?"

said, "No wonder Timothy won't come back- he

thoroughly disgruntled. Having a clever, hard-headed grandson- he wasn't sure if it was a blessing or

Phelps. "Naylor, listen-go to the cemetery and damage Timothy's

are you out of your mind? You want me to

the departed mattered; you didn't mess around with the dead. Some

ghost coming for you at night, or

"Timothy's in trouble with the

it."

Why else would ask you to touch Hannah's grave? Or do you think by faking an illness yourself, you'll get your son to

shook his head. If even his father's stunt didn't work, there was no way

his tone brooking no argument. "Short of something happening to his mother, you tell me what else could possibly get Timothy back

ask anyone else to don such thing. Resigned, he gathered a few offerings and went to the cemetery himself. Setting them by

Timothy hadn't turned off his phone since he'd powered it on, expecting