Goodbye, Mr. Regret

"So you want a divorce, you'd rather throw away your marriage and your child-all because you were jealous of her? Are you really that foolish?"

"We're husband and wife. She's just someone from the outside."

"Do you really think I'd propose to someone I didn't even like, the first time I met them?"

"I didn't just leave you behind."

"Wouldn't it be a waste to end this over a misunderstanding?"

"You sent out an SOS. I got it. I understood. I came for you, I came as fast as I could!"

"You almost drowned-in water barely up to your knees!"

"Why don't you want to hear me out? Are you afraid that everything really is just a misunderstanding? That you still care about me, deep down?"

Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes.

Maybe most women, when faced with the man they've truly loved, find themselves defenseless.

People say he's heartless, but that isn't true.

They say he's oblivious, but he's sharp as a tack-always able to pierce right to the core of her heart with unnerving precision.

And that, more than anything, infuriated her.

He knew she was still holding on, but he always ignored it, never giving her even the slightest response.

The tea she brewed, the comforting soup she made, again and again he never drank any of it.

It always went cold.

There was no one else in this world who could hurt her like he did.

Timothy came in, quietly changed Daisy's towel, and tucked her blanket around her with care.

Then he turned to Jessica, curled up on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. Just like her heart, curled up and aching.

He saw her shoulders trembling, and quickly moved to the other side of the bed.

Her eyes were open, lashes soaked, tears streaking down her cheeks.

It felt like a thousand tiny needles pricking at Timothy's heart.

He saw the wetness at the corners of her eyes.

He remembered her tears before-when she couldn't take it, or when she'd

refused his touch, crying out of frustration or anger.

But he had never seen her cry like this-quietly, with pain.

He slowly crouched down beside her, leaning against the bed, gazing

ther with aching tenderness, His

throat tightened-he didn't even know what to say to comfort her.

"Jessy."

He called her name, voice hoarse and low. He reached out, his hand trembling, wanting to gather her close, to soothe her-but his hand froze in midair, afraid she'd push him away, afraid she'd be angry. noveldrama

Jessica's tears fell faster, like pearls snapped from a string, each one striking Timothy's heart.

He couldn't hold back any longer.

He had to comfort her.

He couldn't bear to see her cry.

He cupped her face gently, leaned in, and kissed the tears from the corner of her

eye.

"Let go of me. Don't touch me."

She'd been crying; her voice was thick with tears.

His handsome face was close, his breath warm against her cheek.

"Jessy."

His voice was low, rough, irresistible.

"You don't really want me to leave."

"I can hear what your heart is saying."

"You're hurting. You want to be cared for, to be comforted. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Even if you tell me to leave, I won't."

The more brokenhearted someone is, the more fragile they become the more

they need someone to stay by their side, to comfort them.

Even a stranger offering a few kind words can bring a rush of warmth, a sense of comfort, a feeling of connection.

Because people aren't meant to be alone.

Because we feel more than we think.

Jessica, after being alone for so long, needed that comfort.

And the one offering it was Timothy.

She didn't seem to have the strength to push him away, or even to yell at him to

leave.

His gentle kisses slowly chased away her tears.

"Timothy! What do you think you're doing?"

Vince had returned to the hospital. He pushed open the door and, seeing the scene in front of him, stormed across the room in three quick strides, stopping right in front of Timothy.