Goodbye, Mr. Regret novel Chapter 508

“Yes, it’s over between us. Honestly, I wanted it to end six months ago—I just never imagined it would drag on this long.”

Seven years of marriage had worn her love for him down to nothing.

She’d spent all those years waiting, never getting so much as a hint of affection in return.

At first, she’d told herself he was just reserved, that he struggled to show his feelings. She put up with everything: no wedding, no public acknowledgment, not even a simple word of reassurance.

But in the end, it wasn’t that he was cold by nature—he simply didn’t love her.

His heart had always belonged to someone else.

He could fill notebook after notebook with Sheila’s name, plan her wedding with painstaking care, and even handwrite every invitation for a celebration that would never be hers.

Even those invitations she’d found in the box—Timothy had addressed each one himself.

On them, there was a photo: Timothy and Sheila, cheek to cheek, dressed in their wedding best.

It was only then that she understood why he’d insisted on keeping their marriage a secret.

He’d never wanted a wedding with her; it was all for Sheila.

Staring at those invitations, Jessica realized just how laughable her seven-year devotion had been.

“I know what you’ve decided. It’ll help me deal with him, too.”

Jessica met Vince’s gaze. “When the month is up, I doubt he’ll just sign the divorce papers like we hope.”

Vince gave a small, reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. As long as you want nothing to do with him, you can act as if he doesn’t exist. Legally, you’re still Salome, and he can’t do anything about it if he refuses to sign. Just go on being Salome—let him stew.”

He was right. The weight in Jessica’s chest eased a little. If she remained Salome, she could cut Timothy out of her life for good.

“I’m so grateful to have you, Vince.”

She squeezed his hand tighter. “If I hadn’t met you, I have no idea when—or if—I’d ever have gotten out of that marriage.”

She’d only just come home; she knew that telling him about her illness would be a heavy blow to anyone.

“I promise. I won’t.”

Vince said the words, but his heart was pounding—whatever she was about to say must be serious, or she wouldn’t have warned him like this.

“I’m sick. I have liver cancer.”

Jessica’s voice was barely above a whisper. Even though they were alone in the bedroom, she couldn’t bring herself to say it any louder.

But even that soft confession hit Vince like a thunderclap, shaking him to his core.

He choked out the words, “When did you find out?”

“It’s been a little over three months.”