Goodbye, Mr. Regret novel Chapter 158

It was Herbert.

Jessica had fainted, and Timothy had taken her away—though his attitude was anything but gentle. Worried, Herbert had followed them, never expecting that Timothy would simply abandon Jessica, taking their son and Sheila with him.

Herbert climbed out of his car.

"Little Mute."

Jessica forced a smile and signed, "What are you doing here?"

He took a deep breath, pressed his lips together, and arched an eyebrow. "If you don't want to smile, then don't do it. That smile of yours doesn't suit you at all."

He could see right through her. She was pretending, and he knew it.

Exposed, Jessica's expression faltered. She tried to explain, "It's not what you think, I… he…"

Her hands moved in tangled, uncertain gestures, searching desperately for some excuse to defend Timothy. But the words wouldn't come.

"Little Mute," Herbert said again, cutting through her muddled signs. "You don't have to explain. I know. He doesn't treat you right."

His jaw clenched hard. "You don't have to keep putting yourself through this. I could help you find a lawyer—"

Jessica immediately raised a hand, signaling him to stop.

Then, bracing herself, her pretty face suddenly grew serious. She signed: "Herbert, I wanted a divorce because I acted on impulse. There's just a little friction between Timothy and me, but he's really good to me. If you keep coming to see me, you'll only make things worse between us. I love him. I don't really want a divorce. When I asked you to help me find a lawyer, I just wanted to scare him a bit—to get his attention. I'm sorry I dragged you into this."

Herbert's lips parted, but before he could speak, Jessica hurried to finish: "Please, don't come looking for me again. He's already so angry because he's seen us together too many times. That's why he left me behind just now. I didn't think things through, and I've caused you trouble—and brought a lot of pain on myself. I'm so, so sorry. I hope you're not angry with me. Goodbye."

So she asked the cabbie to take her to a hotel.

Night fell.

Timothy, Sheila, and Henry sat together at the dining table.

Mabel had been sour all afternoon. Mr. Davenport had left in the morning with Mrs. Davenport, but Mrs. Davenport hadn't returned. Now, the three of them sat together, looking for all the world like a family. The young master, oblivious as ever, was chatting and laughing with Sheila, as if he'd forgotten his mother wasn't home.

Mabel served soup at the table, unable to hold her tongue any longer. "Sir, isn't Mrs. Davenport coming back? She said she'd teach me how to make chicken noodle soup."

She'd found an excuse to ask, worried Timothy might scold her for prying otherwise.