Before she left, Jessica still wanted to see Henry onest time.


    After all, he was her own flesh and blood.-


    He was only six-just a child, really. How could a mother possibly hold a grudge against her own son?


    As she reached Henry''s bedroom door, she heard his voice from inside.


    "Miss She, my mom is usually very polite. I don''t know what happened today. I want to apologize for her. You''re an adult, so please don''t be mad at her, okay?"


    He was too young to understand the tangled web of adult rtionships. If She really was Timothy''s aunt, then by family standards, there was nothing wrong with what Henry said.


    He was trying to defend her.


    Jessica felt a bittersweet twinge offort.


    She was about to push open the door when Henry continued, "Miss She, thank you for being so understanding and not getting upset with my mom. I just wish my mom could talk as nicely as you do. Then I wouldn''t have to worry about my ssmates making fun of her for being mute."


    ...


    "Yeah, there''s a kid in my ss whose mom limps, and everyone teases him all the time. I don''t want to end up like that beingughed at, not able to hold my head up."


    Jessica let go of the doorknob, her breath catching painfully in her chest.


    The older Henry got, the less he could ept her shorings.


    She had barely six months left to live...


    When she was gone, Timothy would be Henry''s only guardian.


    Or maybe Timothy would remarry, find some perfectly healthy woman to be Henry''s stepmother.


    The moment she was diagnosed with cancer, these were the first things she worried about-afraid that a stepmother might mistreat Henry.


    Henry was the center of her world. From the day he was born, she had carried a thousand worries for him.


    But now, maybe none of that mattered anymore.


    Henry saw her as nothing but a source of shame.


    Maybe it was better not to see him again.


    Morning arrived, pale light creeping into the house.


    Timothy dragged his exhausted body through the front door.


    He knew he''d been in the wrongst night.


    She''s allergy to the hotel bedding could have been exined easily-Jessica would have understood.


    He opened the bedroom door, a gust of air fluttering a slip of paper beneath the bed.


    Timothy frowned. He was a stickler for cleanliness, and Jessica always kept the house spotless. It was strange to find a scrap of paper on the bedroom floor.


    The room was empty. His sharp features hardened with a chill. Normally, as soon as his car pulled into the drive, Jessica would be waiting at the door.


    Agitated, he closed the door behind him, strode to the living room, and called, "Mabel."


    "Yes, sir. You''re home."


    "Where''s Jessica?"


    Mabel hesitated. "She''s not in the bedroom?"


    Apparently, Mabel didn''t know where she was, either.


    Remembering the scrap of paper, Timothy told her, "After breakfast, make sure to tidy up the bedroom."


    "Of course."


    He pulled out his phone and called Jessica.


    "We''re sorry, the number you have dialed is currently unavable."


    Last night, She had twisted her ankle just after leaving the house. He''d taken her to the hospital-she''d been in pain all night. She''d finally managed to fall asleep, and he''d rushed home as soon as he could.


    On the way, he realized he hadn''t been back for days—and his attitudest night hadn''t helped. He''d even asked his assistant to wait in line for more than half an hour at Velvet Fork to buy Jessica her favorite pastries. Afraid they''d be cold by the time he got home, he''d kept them warm against his chest.


    He couldn''t understand―Jessica wasn''t taking care of the house, her phone was off, and now she was nowhere to be found.


    Irritated, he yanked off his tie, feeling suffocated.


    Women always went shopping when they were upset.


    Timothy opened his mobile banking app and transferred two hundred thousand dors to Jessica.


    After a moment''s hesitation, thinking it wasn''t enough, he transferred another two hundred thousand.


    Then he typed out a message and hit send.


    Finally, he took the pastries from his coat, arranged them on a te in the kitchen, and went to shower.


    After bathing, he stood at the sink, spreading shaving cream onto his jaw.


    But the razor felt dull, dragging ufortably over his skin.


    That sort of thing had never happened before.


    "Jessica..."


    He realized she wasn''t home.


    Frustrated, he called out, "Mabel!"


    Mabel hurried in.


    So many things go wrong when thedy of the house isn''t here. She wished Mrs. Emerson woulde home soon.


    Foam still clinging to his chin, Timothy said coolly, "Where are the razor des?" "Sorry?"


    "I said, where are the razor des?"


    Mabel lowered her head, nervous. "Mrs. Emerson always handled that herself. I''ll... I''ll go look."


    She rummaged through drawers and cabs for a long time, but came back empty-handed, wringing her hands.


    "I''m sorry, sir. I couldn''t find any. Whenever youe home, Mrs. Emerson always puts out a fresh de in advance. Maybe... maybe she just forgot this time."