Goodbye, Mr. Regret novel Chapter 141

In the mirror, Timothy stood behind her, carefully drying her long, damp hair.

He was always like this.

Every so often, in the smallest details, he'd remind her that he could be attentive, thoughtful even.

He did it so effortlessly.

Jessica had no idea how he managed to seem so calm, as if nothing that had ever broken her heart had anything to do with him, as if he'd never done anything to hurt her in the first place.

He acted as though he had every right—to do as he pleased, to live as he wished.

Jessica sat quietly, hands folded in her lap.

She knew if she tried to take the hairdryer from him, it would only irritate him.

She wasn't the type to argue. She didn't see the point.

Her hair was gorgeous—thick, glossy, and dark.

When her hair was finally dry, it fell in a waterfall down to her waist, catching the light as she moved.

Timothy put the hairdryer away, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to her hair. His voice was low and rough, "I'm going to shower. Wait for me in bed."

The deep, husky timbre of his voice lingered in the room even after he'd disappeared into the bathroom.

This couldn't go on.

If they stayed in the same room, and he tried something tonight, she knew she wouldn't be able to stop him.

Lately, he hadn't been traveling for work at all.

It made her restless.

Jessica found herself wondering how she might refuse him tonight.

Then, suddenly, a warm sensation bloomed beneath her.

That familiar feeling—she let out a small breath of relief.

Her period had started.

A dull ache settled in her lower abdomen, and her back throbbed with a low, persistent soreness.

She rummaged through the drawer, pulled out a pad, and set it on her vanity.

A few minutes later, the cramps began—mild at first, then sharper, deepening as time passed.

Sometimes her period hurt, but tonight the pain was sharper than usual. Maybe it was the cancer making everything worse, weakening her body in ways she could feel but not see.

When Timothy came out of the bathroom, she steadied herself against the pain and, in full view of him, picked up the pad.

His dark eyes narrowed just a touch.

His voice, low and smooth, called softly, "Jessica."

She opened her eyes.

Timothy was sitting beside her, holding a bowl. His face, for once, was open and gentle. "I made you some hot tea. Drink it before you sleep."

Jessica's heart gave a shaky flutter.

In that moment, he looked every bit the caring husband.

Maybe it was the pain, or her fragile state, but her chest felt tight, and her eyes stung.

When she didn't move, Timothy set the delicate porcelain bowl on the nightstand, then leaned over, slipped an arm around her, and helped her sit up. He grabbed both pillows, stacked them behind her, and made sure she was comfortable.

She sank back into the soft nest, the scent of cedar and the faint trace of his aftershave lingering in the air—so familiar it hurt.

Scent memory, she thought, was the hardest to erase. In an instant, it conjured up every night she'd lain awake missing him, loving him in silence.

She ducked her head, unable to meet his eyes.

She wanted to erase every trace of him from her heart, to let nothing remain.

She couldn't let herself fall any deeper.

Just then, Timothy picked up the bowl, scooped a spoonful of the steaming tea, gently blew on it, and held it to her lips.