Goodbye, Mr. Regret

"Don't blame Jessy. If I hadn't taken the necklace out, it never would've broken..."

Sheila looked so wracked with guilt that Timothy didn't have the heart to comfort her.

His mother had given her life to save him and his sister. He'd never met her, but he knew she'd been extraordinary.

While waiting for death, she'd poured her love for her children onto the pages of a journal, a legacy that had accompanied him into adulthood.

"I'll get the necklace fixed," Timothy said quietly, and with that, he walked away. Sheila couldn't tell if he was angry with her or not.

If he was, then why had he defended her when Jessica was there just moments ago? But if he wasn't, why was he now so cold, barely speaking to her?

At least, from the way Timothy's eyes flashed with barely contained anger when he saw Jessica push her, Sheila knew he wasn't indifferent. Maybe it was just his sense of self-control that kept him from slapping Jessica right then and there. She understood his character-no matter what, he would never raise a hand to a woman.

Jessica returned to her tiny apartment, pushing the door open to find Vince inside.

As soon as he saw her, he rushed over, gripping her shoulders, his face a mask of worry. "Jessy, what happened? Why is there blood on the floor?"

That morning, Vince had come by Jessica's place.

Her phone was off. He knocked, but no one answered.

He tried the handle, surprised to find the door unlocked.

Inside, he'd found a dark stain on the wooden floor-blood, dried and nearly black.

He'd searched the entire apartment, calling out for her, but she was nowhere to be found. Just as he stepped out of the bedroom, Jessica finally walked in.

Jessica took out her phone; it was dead. She dug through her bag for a notepad and, after a moment's thought, scribbled a quick note: *"I'm fine, don't worry about me. The blood's from a stray dog I helped yesterday."*

She had no intention of telling anyone about the cancer.

She didn't want pity, and she certainly didn't want people worrying on her behalf.

Most of all, she couldn't let Timothy or Henry find out.

If she couldn't get a divorce, this illness was her last way out of their lives.

Vince let out a long breath.

"Thank goodness," he said, hands dropping to his sides. Then, noticing how pale she looked, he frowned. "You

Sok awful. Are you sure you're

*Didn't sleep well last night,* she wrote, keeping her answer brief.

Communicating with people who didn't know sign language was exhausting, and writing everything out slowed every conversation to a crawl.

The voice-emitting pendant Herbert Wheeler had given her was a godsend now that she'd lost her voice.

"If you're not feeling well, take the morning off. I'll call the attorney, have him come by later this afternoon."

Jessica quickly scribbled, *"No need. Let's meet with him now-I'll take a nap at lunch. I have other things this afternoon."*

Clearly, Jessica was determined to get the divorce over with.

She motioned for Vince to sit, then poured him a glass of water. She found her phone charger and plugged her phone in.

She had hardly sat down when someone knocked at the door.

"That must be the lawyer. I'll get it," Vince offered, heading to the door.

But the man standing in the hallway wasn't the lawyer-it was Herbert. The moment Herbert caught sight of Vince inside Jessica's apartment, his expression darkened, hisnoveldrama

ver

gold rimmed glasses doing nothing

to hide the storm brewing in his

eyes.

"Who are you?" Herbert demanded, his tone icy. "And what are you doing in Little Mute's apartment?"

When Jessica heard Herbert's voice, she hurried out of the living room.

Vince, meeting Herbert's glare,

simply raised a questioning eyebrow. Before he could say anything, Jessica stepped between them and signed quickly to Herbert: "He's my friend."*