Goodbye, Mr. Regret

Jessica typed a quick message on her phone.

"I'll make my own arrangements. There's no need for you to worry."

Phelps glanced at the screen, then looked up at her, his gaze lingering.

"I remember Timothy made you sign a prenup. If you divorce him, you won't get a dime. You've been married to him, what, seven years now? A woman only has so many sets of seven years in her life. Are you really willing to let them slip by?"

A woman only has so many sets of seven years.

If she lived long enough, maybe there'd be another seven years. But this was her last. She'd spent her final seven years on Timothy.

Seven years ago, Timothy wanted to marry her. She'd been so happy, floating through life on a cloud. Even signing the prenup hadn't bothered her. She wanted love. She wanted Timothy. Nothing else mattered.

Looking back now, it all seemed absurd.

She replied to Phelps.

"A bet's a bet. Loser pays the price."

"And what makes you so sure you'll lose? Ever since Sheila showed up, have you ever tried fighting for him?"

Phelps wasn't beating around the bush anymore, just laying it all out—Sheila and Timothy were involved.

Jessica gave a helpless little smile.

"I gambled for seven years. I already know the answer."

She held her phone up for Phelps to see.

"Pathetic," he muttered, standing up and ending the conversation.

Phelps strode out and called for Sallie.noveldrama

Sallie dug Henry's medication from her purse and pressed it into Jessica's hand.

"These are Henry's meds. Make sure he takes them on time, alright?"

Once Phelps and Sallie had left, Jessica handed the pills to Mabel.

Mabel glanced at the label-children's medicine. She realized it was for Henry and said, "Ma'am, you're usually the one who gives Master Henry his medicine."

Jessica studied her for a moment.

Mabel quickly added, "Sorry, ma'am. I'll make sure he gets it on time."

Truth was, this sort of thing was usually the housekeeper's job. Mabel wasn't shirking her duties. Jessica had just always insisted on caring for Timothy and his son herself.

Jessica headed to the master bedroom.

She went back to her paper-cutting project-just a small section left. Once she finished, she could have it framed and send it to Latonia.

At lunchtime, Henry nibbled on some snacks, took his medicine, and then fell asleep. By the time he woke up, dusk was falling.

He heard the sounds of cooking and wandered out of his room, only to find Mabel bustling in the kitchen.

She beamed at him. "Hungry, sweetheart?"

"Where's Mom? Why isn't she cooking?"

"She must be busy with something."

Henry trotted down the hall and knocked on Jessica's door before slipping inside.

"Mom, why aren't you making dinner?"

Jessica set down her scissors and looked up.

Henry frowned, clearly unhappy.

"Isn't Mabel cooking?" she signed patiently.

"But you always make dinner. Why is Mabel doing it today? Don't you want to cook for me anymore?"

"It doesn't matter who cooks, does it?" Jessica signed, her patience unwavering.

Henry's face crumpled. He felt so wronged, so unloved, his cheeks puffing out in frustration.

Just as he was about to protest, his smartwatch rang.

His face lit up with surprise. "It's Miss Sheila!"

He answered the call and hurried out into the hallway.

"Miss Sheila! Aunt Sallie said you'd left. Why didn't you say goodbye to me?"

His words, so needy and trusting, pierced Jessica's heart like a thousand tiny needles.

How long had he even known Sheila? And already, he liked her this much.