Goodbye, Mr. Regret

A nurse wheeled Timothy down the hall toward his room, with Naylor hurrying right behind. Secretary Allen stepped forward to steady Phelps, guiding him in the same direction.

"When did he end up in another accident?" Phelps asked, his voice tense.

"A few days ago," Allen replied truthfully. He'd only discovered Timothy was hospitalized when he came by to get his signature on some important documents.

"Do you know how it happened?"

"Not exactly. I didn't dare ask too much."

Phelps let out a frustrated sigh, his brow furrowing deeper. He pressed on, asking what had happened that evening.

Allen recounted everything as it had happened, then handed over Timothy's phone. Blood had dried in streaks along the screen, and the display was frozen on a photo. Phelps tapped to see it more clearly, realizing it had been opened from Vince's social media feed.

Jessica wasn't just anyone-she was Salome. So Timothy had

be so shaken by a single photograph of his wife that he'd collapse from the stress?" Allen asked, careful to keep his tone casual. As Timothy's secretary, there were things he

inseparable as kids. She knew Timothy had lost his mother, and she'd always try to share hers-every winter, when they built snowmen, she'd make an extra one just for Timothy. But in this

blood-all over a photograph? But deep

have to take an urgent call. I'll be

about us. We'll

to the end of the hallway and

frowned. She thought she'd made things clear the last time they shouldn't have any more contact. Still, she wasn't the kind to blame others unfairly. Secretary Allen was

to say hello before blurting,

for divorce with him. There's just two weeks left in the cooling-off period before it's final. He's agreed to everything. As far as I'm O concerned, we're already finished. Whatever happens to him-hospitalization,