Goodbye, Mr. Regret

As for the brooch, she never accepted it. Just the sight of it made her angry.

And then there was that last gift bag left unopened on the bedroom Christmas tree.

"You did nothing wrong-it was all my fault. Go take care of it," Timothy said, ending the call. He bought himself a ticket to an early screening.

At the theater's promotional booth, he queued up to claim a fan gift-merchandise inspired by the movie's characters. Timothy received a glass bottle ornament with a tiny photo inside: the film's main characters, mother and son, smiling together. The glass sparkled in the light, beautiful and delicate.

He examined the character designs. The aesthetic was unmistakably Jessica's.

It felt like all the air had been sucked from the room. He couldn't breathe; his chest ached.

Timothy's gaze drifted toward the director, Carlisle, and he couldn't help recalling the day Yates had come to deliver the film materials. Vince had swooped in, snapping up the movie rights.

Had Vince already known, even then, how closely Jessica was connected to this film?

Timothy still didn't know exactly how, but the mere thought nearly gave him a heart attack.

Back then, he'd had the audacity to tell Yates he wanted to acquire the film for Sheila, to give her top billing, all so he could find a strong, dramatic role to launch her career.

Vince had reminded him that his own wife was an animator too.

What had he said in response? That a true genius wouldn't care about such things.

that Timothy? He actually came to see

President Lawson is here in person,

a picture, record

was lost in his memories, oblivious to the growing buzz

glanced up. Sure enough, there

husband. Jessica had given up her

eyes darkened for a moment, but he kept smiling, helping the host with the

way inside to collect his

theater. The three of them were

and Vince sat on

the familiar music and imagery sent Jessica's heart racing. She'd never seen the finished

script, and he'd relied heavily on

its heart, a sweeping drama

she'd been thinking so much

to pour herself into the story. So many

every bottle containing a letter. If the letter failed to reach its destination, the bottle would shatter and the lost soul would

at sea, he desperate struggle to bring him into the world, and her memories of pregnancy: life forming, mother and son bound

Carlisle's painstaking attention in every frame. The film had no dialogue, relying on visuals to express

poignant. Gavin's story threaded