Goodbye, Mr. Regret novel Chapter 4

Before she left, Jessica still wanted to see Henry one last time.

After all, he was her own flesh and blood.-

He was only six—just a child, really. How could a mother possibly hold a grudge against her own son?

As she reached Henry's bedroom door, she heard his voice from inside.

"Miss Sheila, my mom is usually very polite. I don't know what happened today. I want to apologize for her. You're an adult, so please don't be mad at her, okay?"

He was too young to understand the tangled web of adult relationships. If Sheila really was Timothy's aunt, then by family standards, there was nothing wrong with what Henry said.

He was trying to defend her.

Jessica felt a bittersweet twinge of comfort.

She was about to push open the door when Henry continued, "Miss Sheila, thank you for being so understanding and not getting upset with my mom. I just wish my mom could talk as nicely as you do. Then I wouldn't have to worry about my classmates making fun of her for being mute."

…

"Yeah, there's a kid in my class whose mom limps, and everyone teases him all the time. I don't want to end up like that—being laughed at, not able to hold my head up."

…

Jessica let go of the doorknob, her breath catching painfully in her chest.

The older Henry got, the less he could accept her shortcomings.

She had barely six months left to live…

When she was gone, Timothy would be Henry's only guardian.

Or maybe Timothy would remarry, find some perfectly healthy woman to be Henry's stepmother.

The moment she was diagnosed with cancer, these were the first things she worried about—afraid that a stepmother might mistreat Henry.

Henry was the center of her world. From the day he was born, she had carried a thousand worries for him.

But now, maybe none of that mattered anymore.

Henry saw her as nothing but a source of shame.

Maybe it was better not to see him again.

—

Morning arrived, pale light creeping into the house.

Timothy dragged his exhausted body through the front door.

He knew he'd been in the wrong last night.

Sheila's allergy to the hotel bedding could have been explained easily—Jessica would have understood.

He opened the bedroom door, a gust of air fluttering a slip of paper beneath the bed.

Timothy frowned. He was a stickler for cleanliness, and Jessica always kept the house spotless. It was strange to find a scrap of paper on the bedroom floor.

The room was empty. His sharp features hardened with a chill. Normally, as soon as his car pulled into the drive, Jessica would be waiting at the door.

Agitated, he closed the door behind him, strode to the living room, and called, "Mabel."