Goodbye, Mr. Regret novel Chapter 459

Sheila sprang to her feet, stumbling over to Timothy. She dropped to her knees in front of him, clutching his hands so tightly her knuckles turned white, tears streaming down her face as she cried out his name. “Timothy, please, don’t leave me. Please, I’m begging you. I don’t care that you have Jessy, I don’t even care if I stay in the shadows. Do you have any idea how much I think about you every single day? I’m almost thirty, Timothy, and you’ve built a life with Jessy. You should know how hard it is for someone my age to hold all this in. Please, just give me one chance. I’m begging you.”

Her sobs were raw and desperate, and guilt twisted inside Timothy.

But all he could offer her was regret—and, perhaps, some hollow attempts to make up for it in other ways. He couldn’t give her what she wanted.

“Sheila, please don’t—this isn’t something we should even be discussing.”

Sheila collapsed against his legs, leaving dark stains of tears on his suit pants.

“But Timothy, I want my first time to be with you. Please, I’m begging you. Take me, please?”

“Timothy…” She looked up at him, eyes brimming with longing and sorrow, her face so heartbreakingly vulnerable.

In the end, Timothy pushed her away and got to his feet. “You need to calm down. Everything you said today—I’m just going to pretend it was a dream, alright? Don’t ever bring it up again. I have a wife and a child. There is nothing more between us. There never will be.”

Ever since he got married, the idea of something more with Sheila had never even crossed his mind—not once.

He gripped his cane tightly. “Save your first time for your future husband. He’ll cherish you more than I ever could.”

He turned and walked away.

“Timothy!” Sheila scrambled after him, grabbing him from behind, arms locked desperately around his waist, her voice breaking as she sobbed, “I don’t want anyone else—I only want you. Seven years ago, you were the one who wanted to marry me. How can you be so cruel and just walk away?”

Timothy pried her arms off him, his voice edged with finality. “When you gave up back then, I never got a word from you. I assumed you’d made your choice. That was my mistake. But I’m being clear now: this is over. Don’t ever bring it up again.”

“This ends here.”

He steadied himself on his cane and strode away, not looking back.

Sheila collapsed to the ground, howling, sobbing so hard it was as if she wanted to pour out seven years of heartbreak and frustration all at once.

How could that mute girl he picked up—someone from nowhere—replace the bond she and Timothy had built since childhood? That little tramp, Salome Zimmerman, had been flirting with Timothy since they were kids. And now, she’d stolen his heart for good.

Sheila couldn’t accept it. She wouldn’t. Timothy had to be hers.

***

After getting in the car, Timothy called Secretary Allen, instructing him to send someone over to collect The Grand Canal, Venice.

He knew Sheila was devastated, but he had to take back the painting. He couldn’t risk losing Jessica. He couldn’t lose his wife. He couldn’t lose the girl who’d always said she’d marry him, ever since they were little.

On the way home, Timothy stopped at a pharmacy, bought some medicine, then returned to the house.