On the Ruins of His Regret I Soar novel Chapter 52

“If you need help, just ask,” George said. “Mr. George can help.”

Jessica felt a pang of awkwardness. George seemed to lack a certain social awareness. Mr. George might help him because he was his bodyguard, but she was a stranger. Why would a powerful man like that help her? She figured George spent so much time isolated with his boss, working until three in the morning, that he didn’t quite understand how the real world worked. Still, his offer came from a good place, and she was grateful.

“There’s no need to trouble Mr. George,” she said with a smile. “Once I have proof, I’ll get my daughter back myself.”

George paused, his fork hovering over his plate. “You love your daughter very much?”

Jessica’s eyes immediately welled with tears. Ever since she’d gotten out of the asylum, the pain of her daughter’s rejection had been a constant, unspoken weight. George’s simple question opened the floodgates. “She’s more important to me than my own life. I love her so much. You have no idea how sweet and wonderful she used to be. It’s only because I was gone for six months that she…”

A wave of regret washed over her. She shouldn't have been so stubborn back then. Even if she wasn't thinking of herself, she should have thought of her four-year-old daughter, left all alone. She had failed as a mother.

“I know what my child is truly like,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

George just nodded.

After breakfast, Jessica insisted on doing the dishes. “You cooked, so I should clean.” It was a rule George seemed completely unfamiliar with. While she cleaned, he sat at the table with a tablet, attending to his work.

Helen had been chosen by Jessica’s own mother before she passed away, and she had always treated Jessica like a daughter. With Amy in the room, Jessica didn’t mention the divorce. She waited until the little girl was asleep.

When she told her, Helen sighed heavily. “It’s all Catherine Brown’s fault. She stays over at the house every night, throwing herself at a married man. Last night, I saw her bring Mr. Smith soup in his study at midnight, wearing a nightgown so short it barely covered anything. The second she bent over, her whole chest was practically falling out.”

Jessica said nothing.

“Mrs. Smith,” Helen urged, grabbing her hand, “even if you do get a divorce, you have to fight for what’s yours. You can’t let that woman win. If you walk away with nothing, she’ll be thrilled. Besides, you’ll need the money if you want to fight for custody of Amy.”