Goodbye, Mr. Regret

It felt as though a sharp knife had plunged straight into Jessica's heart.

She'd always treated Henry well-she knew that. Yet, somehow, he always managed to hurt her the most.

"Henry, that's enough!" Timothy's voice was cold, cutting through the tension in the room.

"Dad, I" Henry started to explain.

"Henry." Sheila gently pulled him toward her, her tone soft but firm. "You can't accuse your mom of things she hasn't done."

Henry's lips pressed together in frustration. He hadn't meant to sound so harsh-it was just a reflex. Deep down, he always knew that bringing up his mother would upset his father. But lately, everything had changed. Miss Sheila hadn't come by in a long while, and she didn't visit him at school anymore. Every day, someone from the family picked him up, and his classmates kept asking why his beautiful mom never came. He had no idea what to say.

Whenever he tried to reach Sheila, she'd tell him she was busy and couldn't get away. She'd also told him that his own mother had come back. She never said it outright, but Henry could sense it: his mom was the reason Miss Sheila stayed away.

He slipped his hand out of Sheila's, walked over to Jessica, and whispered, "Mom, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I just wanted Miss Sheila to come over as a guest. Please don't be mad, okay?"

He reached out, hoping to hold Jessica's hand like he used to when he wanted to win her forgiveness with a little charm. In the past, if he ever made a mistake, a little show of affection was all it took-his mother would always soften.

He didn't want to get scolded by his dad for what he'd said, and if his father got angry and sent Miss Sheila away, that would be even worse.

as soon as his fingers brushed Jessica's hand, she recoiled as if she'd

moment, he forgot to be upset he was too

last time she'd seen Jessica, she'd only used sign

eyes cold. "I can talk now. Does

Or not? Henry didn't know what to feel. Everything inside

He'd already let everyone think Sheila was his mom, and now, with his real mother talking again, what would people

Henry's hand in his. His

Timothy. "I

closed the door behind her, pressing

He was her son, her flesh and blood, the child she'd carried for nine months. His words and actions cut deeper than anything, and no matter

Henry more than he could bear. Tears of frustration and shame spilled down his cheeks. He'd tried to hold her hand, to apologize,

could his mom treat him like

son's tears and frowned. "Stop crying. You're not a little girl. Boys don't

harder Timothy

keep his feelings in check-he