Goodbye, Mr. Regret

"Dad, look at this."

Timothy took the phone from Henry and glanced at the video account. A brand- new movie trailer had just been uploaded.

He asked hoarsely, "Is this your mother's account?"

"Looks like it is."

A shadow crossed Timothy's eyes. "Have you seen these before?"

Tears welled in Henry's eyes. "Yeah... I have. Every night, Mom would play me stories from this account. I... I just never realized..."

A wave of guilt crashed over him. He'd never truly understood what his mother had done for him.

Because she couldn't speak, she couldn't read him bedtime stories like other moms. So she found another way-she made these videos, just for him. All this time, he'd thought she just found random cartoons online. He'd even complained to her face that all she did was play videos on her phone, that it didn't mean anything.

He'd begged Sheila to stay and tell him stories, even pushed his own mother aside for it.

Later, when he learned Sheila was popular and could animate stories-when his classmates envied him-he thought, wouldn't it be great if Sheila could be his mom instead?

But his real mother had always been able to make cartoons.

She could write her own stories, too.

she once told him alone

felt like

wasn't clueless about a mother's love. After all, in the arts-and-crafts contest, he'd cut out a picture of a lamb kneeling to

his mom was mute, he'd never dared admit she

must that

as he started to sob,

"Dad... I was wrong... I'm... I'm

stabbed at him, sharper with every

to admit what he'd

Timothy everything that had happened when he'd been in the hospital for

promised to celebrate her

Timothy wanted to scold his son, but

Henry's fault. He was to

to

let Mom down."

seeing his son so broken, Timothy couldn't bring himself to add to his pain. Henry was only a child. The real

"No more tears, okay? Let's go find your mom. You can apologize to

the car, the two sat in the backseat.