Goodbye, Mr. Regret novel Chapter 342

There was a time when Timothy got injured and ended up in the hospital, unable to move. Jessica was the one who stayed by his side, tending to his every need with tireless devotion.

She was the only person who knew his deepest secrets. He knew, with absolute certainty, that no one could ever replace her in his life.

At one point, Timothy stubbornly insisted on calling the doctor over just so he could have his casted leg lowered and, balancing on one knee, hop to the bathroom by himself—anything to avoid being cared for by the hospital attendant.

He even refused to eat the breakfast Sallie brought him, settling for nothing but water.

After that, Timothy lay in bed, completely ignoring everyone around him.

Phelps tried to bring up the subject of the divorce with Jessica, but Timothy wouldn’t even give him the chance to speak.

In truth, Phelps had never supported Timothy’s decision to divorce Jessica. He feared that, once divorced, Timothy would be left vulnerable, and Sheila might swoop in during his lowest moment. The thought of that troubled him even more than if Timothy had married someone who couldn’t speak.

But Timothy had gone too far in what he’d done to Jessica. With Jessica talking about pressing charges, Phelps knew he had to find a way to grant her request—for Timothy’s own future, if nothing else.

Sallie, along with her son and grandson, stood clustered outside the hospital room.

Sallie’s heart ached to see Timothy refusing to eat. She tried calling Jessica again, but Jessica didn’t answer. Frustrated, she couldn’t help but complain, “I just don’t get it. Timothy’s been hurt so badly, and Jessy won’t even pick up the phone. How can she just ignore her own husband? What on earth is she doing?”

Naylor frowned. “I’ll send someone to look for her. Timothy won’t let us or the nurse take care of him—she’s the only one he’ll allow.”

Phelps stayed quiet. The fewer people who knew about the incident, the better. “Go ahead and look for her,” he said. “The sooner you find her, the better.”

On the way home, Phelps tried calling Jessica too, but she didn’t pick up.

Jessica had fallen into a deep sleep and didn’t wake until morning light streamed into her room.

She’d had a string of fragmented dreams—some about her childhood, where she seemed to have a grandfather and a brother, though she could never quite make out their faces.

It struck her as odd, since those people never existed.