Goodbye, Mr. Regret

"Dad, look at this."

Timothy took the phone from Henry and glanced at the video account. A brand- new movie trailer had just been uploaded.

He asked hoarsely, "Is this your mother's account?"

"Looks like it is."

A shadow crossed Timothy's eyes. "Have you seen these before?"

Tears welled in Henry's eyes. "Yeah... I have. Every night, Mom would play me stories from this account. I... I just never realized..."

A wave of guilt crashed over him. He'd never truly understood what his mother had done for him.

Because she couldn't speak, she couldn't read him bedtime stories like other moms. So she found another way-she made these videos, just for him. All this time, he'd thought she just found random cartoons online. He'd even complained to her face that all she did was play videos on her phone, that it didn't mean anything.

He'd begged Sheila to stay and tell him stories, even pushed his own mother aside for it.

Later, when he learned Sheila was popular and could animate stories-when his classmates envied him-he thought, wouldn't it be great if Sheila could be his mom instead?

But his real mother had always been able to make cartoons.

She could write her own stories, too.

The little tales she once told him alone were now being shared with the whole world.

Henry's heart felt like it might break.

He wasn't clueless about a mother's love. After all, in the arts-and-crafts contest, he'd cut out a picture of a lamb kneeling to its mother in gratitude.

But because his mom was mute, he'd never dared admit she was his mother in front of other people.

How much must that have hurt her?

"Dad—” His voice hitched as he started to sob, words coming out in broken

bursts, "Dad... I was wrong... I'm... I'm so sorry to Mom..."

Guilt stabbed at him, sharper with every breath.

He had to admit what he'd done.

He told Timothy everything that had happened when he'd been in the hospital for his appendectomy.

Only then did Timothy finally understand why Jessica had left for the capital alone, even though she'd promised to celebrate her birthday with him when he returned. Had she gone to see Ines's exhibition in secret?

"You-" Timothy wanted to scold his son, but the words stuck in his throat.

It wasn't just Henry's fault. He was to blame, too.

He'd never helped Henry understand, never guided him to notice the quiet ways his mother loved him.noveldrama

"Dad, just... yell at me. I... I let Mom down." Henry's self-reproach was almost unbearable.

But seeing his son so broken, Timothy couldn't bring himself to add to his pain. Henry was only a child. The real fault lay with him.

Timothy pulled Henry into a hug. "No more tears, okay? Let's go find your mom. You can apologize to her yourself."

In the car, the two sat in the backseat. Timothy watched every video on the account.

She couldn't speak, but even with all the housework and her job, she'd poured her energy into making these stories-trying to make up for not being able to tell them in person.

She loved her son more than any mother could. Every story was original, each

paired with her own illustrations.

In those days, she must have longed to speak more than anything.

Timothy clenched his fists.

His own feelings seemed so cheap in comparison.

He'd never tried to truly know her. He hadn't known she could make paper cuttings, hadn't known she could write stories, hadn't known she'd been Ines's favorite student, or that she could animate her own tales.

He hadn't even known she hadn't been born mute.

He'd missed every important moment of her life.

Seven years had gone by, and she'd never once complained to him—not a single word of resentment.

Compared to her, Timothy felt utterly unworthy.

He'd blamed her for getting a little too close to Herbert, when all along, he'd never tried to understand her.

Lately, Timothy's heart hadn't stopped aching, tight with regret.