Goodbye, Mr. Regret

Timothy's brow was deeply furrowed. He had traveled halfway across the world, injuries and all, just to clear up the misunderstanding between him and Jessica.

How had it come to this-had he really pushed her to the brink?

Problems between a husband and wife only fester and worsen when left unspoken, without honest communication.

"I came here to explain things to her," Timothy said firmly.

Vince's tone was gentle but steady, "Timothy, listen to me. Give her some time. Let her recover and catch her breath. I haven't known Jessica for long, but even I can tell she's wound tighter than a spring. She's still in the hospital, trying to get better. Her throat-think about it. How do you think she'll react if she sees you right now?"

Timothy's frown deepened.

He remembered how, that day, Jessica had actually flinched from his touch. The moment he reached out to brush her cheek, she had started trembling uncontrollably.

But still...

"Timothy, you two aren't even divorced yet, are you? There's no need to rush. You know as well as I do how much that night affected her-don't make it worse by forcing things."

Vince was trying to buy Jessica some peace and quiet.

When someone's sick, emotional stress only makes things worse. And matters between a man and a woman—if they aren't mutual, if the heart isn't in it—it can be deeply hurtful.

Timothy said nothing, lost in thought.

Vince pressed on, "Even I wanted to shake you that night, you know? Just think about how she must have felt. Why else would there have been a paring knife lying by her feet?"

Vince's words finally took the edge off Timothy's urgent need to see Jessica. Showing up now would only be an extra burden for her.

Timothy quietly hung up.

He had his own medical team; it didn't really matter whether he stayed at the hospital or not. Truth be told, he hated the smell of antiseptic. In the end, he decided to stay at his grandfather's house instead.

By the time Timothy arrived at the Howard family estate, it was already past midnight.

Abell and Sandra were both awake, and when they saw the state Timothy was in -bruised and battered-Sandra burst into tears.

Abell, meanwhile, looked at him with deep concern, worry etched into every line of his face.

Was Timothy really here because of Sheila, just as Phelps had said?

He was married now, with a six-year-old son. Why couldn't he let go?

Downstairs, Sheila heard the

commotion and, unable to sleepnet

hurried down. The moment she saw Timothy, her eyes went widecand she rushed to his side.

"Timothy, what happened? How did you get hurt like this?"

Sheila was nearly in tears herself.

"It was just a minor car accident," Timothy replied quietly.

"A minor accident? You call this minor?"

Sheila's heart ached for him, but he made it sound like nothing at all.

Abell cleared his throat, "Sheila, it's late. You should get some sleep. Timothy just

got off a long flight, and he needs to rest and adjust."

Sheila wanted to protest, but Abell's word was final. She nodded and slipped

away, though worry lingered in her eyes.

Abell and Sandra, along with the medical staff, helped Timothy settle into a guest room on the first floor.

Sandra sat by his bedside, clutching

his hand tightly. "How could you be

so careless? Getting into an

accident, and then refusing to stay at the hospital-flying all this

this state. Is something that

way in

important?"

Timothy sighed. “Jessica and I had a fight. There was a misunderstanding, and

she came here to get away. I came to bring her home."noveldrama

Hearing this, Abell finally relaxed little, the tension slipping from his face. "I understand you're worried about Jessica, but you can't just push your body like this. You need to take better care of yourself."