Goodbye, Mr. Regret novel Chapter 496

“Sallie, do you seriously have the nerve to call me right now? Or have you just conveniently forgotten everything that happened?”

She was furious.

Vince gritted his teeth and spat out, “Let me make myself perfectly clear: from this day on, whatever happens to Timothy—whether he lives or dies—has absolutely nothing to do with the Zimmerman family!”

With those words, he hung up.

Sallie nearly threw her phone in frustration.

This was a disaster.

Salome had always been the Zimmermans’ favorite. That day, right in front of Vince, she’d called Jessica a mute and accused her of embarrassing the Lawsons just by showing up.

It was no wonder Vince had lost his temper.

But now Timothy had vanished without a trace. Where was she supposed to find him?

Timothy was on the mountain.

He’d returned to the same old abbey he’d visited once before.

He was lucky; just as he walked in, he came across Father Benedict, the abbey’s head priest, whom he’d met on his previous visit.

“Father,” Timothy greeted him quietly.

Father Benedict pressed his palms together and bowed his head slightly. “Peace be with you, my son.”

Timothy had seen enough of the world to know the proper etiquette, and since he’d come seeking the priest’s guidance on how to escape his pain, he tried to follow Father Benedict’s example, bowing his head and folding his hands. “Peace be with you, Father. I visited your abbey once before, and your words about suffering left a deep impression on me. I have some questions I’d like to ask.”

“Please, come this way, my son.”

Timothy followed Father Benedict into the meditation hall.

Inside, incense drifted through the air while soft Gregorian chants played in the background. The moment Timothy stepped through the doorway, he was enveloped by a sense of calm and peace.

The turmoil in his heart seemed to quiet, if only for a moment.

They sat down on floor cushions at a low table, where a pot of tea was kept warm. After a brief glance, Father Benedict poured Timothy a cup of tea.

“Heartbroken, are you?” the priest asked gently.

Timothy, who was usually so composed—almost unreadable—couldn’t hide his surprise. It wasn’t often that anyone could see straight through him.

“How did you know?” he asked.

Father Benedict smiled, unhurried. “It’s written all over your face.”

Timothy frowned. He prided himself on keeping his emotions in check.

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