Goodbye, Mr. Regret

"Could you explain the inspiration behind your papercutting design?"

The host couldn't understand sign language.

But Henry could.

Yet he kept silent. He didn't want to answer Jessica using sign language, not in front of everyone.

His nerves were stretched too thin-he was terrified someone would connect the dots between him and Jessica.

One of his classmates' mothers was here today. If she realized Jessica was actually his mom...

His problem was no longer that his mother couldn't speak, but that he'd been lying to everyone.

That's the trouble with lies: tell one, and you'll need a thousand more to keep it covered.

The host noticed Jessica using sign language and turned to Henry in surprise. "Henry, do you know Miss Jessica Greene? She's using sign language to ask you something—can you understand sign language? That's amazing! Would you mind translating what she just asked?"

The host held the microphone out to Henry, and the entire room waited for hisnoveldrama

answer.

Henry was furious.

His mom knew he was in this papercutting contest, yet she'd still come as the head judge. As if that wasn't bad enough, now she was intentionally using sign language to speak to him.

He decided to brazen it out. "I'm sorry, I don't understand what the judge is saying."

The host, clueless, withdrew the mic and turned to Jessica. "Miss Jessica Greene, could you please use your speech device to ask your question? Henry doesn't know sign language."

Just then, Herbert stood up, but before he could make a move, Timothy was already on his feet. He strode over to Jessica, coldly glaring at Henry.

Timothy leaned over the table, one arm resting protectively behind Jessica, his voice low and commanding as he spoke into the microphone. "I can understand sign language. I'll translate for Miss Jessica Greene."

Jessica found herself wrapped in Timothy's arms, and for a moment, the room's atmosphere turned tense and strange.

Vince raised an eyebrow.

Marquis stared, completely baffled by Timothy's actions.

Henry, standing on stage, felt sweat breaking out across his forehead. He had no

idea what his father was planning.

Timothy's voice, cold and forceful, echoed through the hall.

"Henry, Miss Jessica Greene wants to know the inspiration behind your papercutting design."

The image Henry had made-a lamb kneeling to nurse-had infuriated Timothy.

If Henry understood the greatness of a mother's love, how could he stand here and pretend he didn't know sign language?

Vince had been right: when a child makes a mistake, you need to correct it immediately.

Lately, Henry had been nothing but a disappointment.

Suddenly, standing there under the harsh lights and everyone's eyes, Henry burst into tears.

The host hurried over to comfort him.

Timothy's voice cut through the noise, stern and unyielding. "Stop crying."

Sheila jumped to her feet and rushed

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over, her voice urgent. "Timothy, what are you doing? He's just a childAre you trying to scar him for life in front of all these people?"

Timothy's lips were pressed into a hard, thin line. At his rebuke, Henry choked back his sobs, but tears still trembled on his lashes.

Looking at his son's small, trembling shoulders, Timothy felt an ache he couldn't ignore.

Henry was Jessica's darling, but he was his as well.

He remembered the moment Henry was carried out of the delivery room, the first time he'd ever truly felt what it meant to be a father. Hard as he tried, even he had teared up.

After the host had calmed Henry

down, he turned, all business, to Timothy "Mr. Lawson, I'm sorry, but you're not a judge. Please don't disrupt our contest-would you mind returning to your seat?"

Sheila spoke in a low voice, "Timothy, if Henry's done something wrong, or if he's upset you, you can deal with it at home. There are so many people here-do you really want to risk leaving him with dasting scars?"