Your Regret Can't Let Me Back!

On the sixth anniversary of my marriage to Bradley Scott, I was in a car accident and ended up in the operating room. At the time, he and our son were celebrating childhood sweetheart–Florence’s birthday. I mustered all my strength to contact him to come to the hospital to sign the paperwork and pay the fees. After a long time, the call finally connected. “Gina, are you annoying or what? Don’t you get tired of celebrating anniversaries every year? Florence just returned to the country and has no one to rely on. She needs someone right now.” Even my own son, the one I gave birth to, spoke up for the outsider:
“Mom, could you please not be so mean? Aunt Florence is so pitiful. We just wanted to spend her birthday with her.” “
After being discharged from the hospital, I resolutely decided to get a divorce.
Later,that father and son acted like they’d lost their minds, begging me to come home.
…
Before the accident, I had just received a photo from Bradley’s childhood sweetheart. She was holding a cake and smiling sweetly at Bradley, while my son Tommy was cuddled in her arms. The three of them looked just like a family of three in the photo.
“Gina, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know today was your wedding anniversary. After the birthday, I’ll have them leave later.”
This wasn’t the first time Florence had flaunted and provoked in front of me.
But this time, I didn’t care. Today was my sixth wedding anniversary with Bradley. Last month, I asked Bradley how we should celebrate, and he just said it was up to me.
That’s right, I’ve always been the one preparing, while he just shows up after work.
I had already booked the restaurant and prepared the anniversary gift.
Even the dress I was going to wear today and the perfume I was going to spray were carefully chosen by me. I waited for him with anticipation, but after five hours, I couldn’t reach him by phone and had to ask his secretary.
“Madam, the president canceled tonight’s work and left early.”
So Bradley wasn’t only focused on work—he just didn’t direct that focus toward me.
I turned off my phone screen, looked at the table of food and wine, and Suddenly, I felt it was completely boring. Chasing after Bradley brazenly was pointless.
Staying home to raise our son and manage the household was even more pointless.
The wind blew across my face, and the intoxication faded slightly.
The green light turned on, and I stepped onto the crosswalk. Then, unexpectedly, it happened.
A car lost control and careened toward me, its headlights flashing. In a daze, someone grabbed my arm.
All my senses seemed to slow down as if someone had pressed the rewind button. Some people were crying, others were shouting.
I couldn’t move. When I came to my senses, I was already lying in the operating room.
The doctor told me to contact my family and come to the hospital quickly to sign the paperwork and pay the fees.
I forced myself to take out my phone and dial Bradley’s number.
“Beep.”
The phone rang once and was immediately hung up.
This happened twice in a row. In the past, I wouldn’t have bothered him like this.
Now I was the one who’s been in a car accident and needed surgery, and he and our son were the only family members left.
After a long time, he finally answered the call.
But as soon as he spoke, he launched into an impatient rebuke.
“Gina, are you annoying or what? Don’t you get tired of celebrating anniversaries every year? Florence just returned to the country, has no one to rely on, and needs someone right now.” She needed someone to celebrate her birthday with, but what about me?
I wanted to explain that I was in the hospital.
Between surgery and a birthday, I thought Bradley would know which was more important.
Before I could say anything, my son Tommy’s voice came through the phone.
“Mom, can you please not be so harsh? Aunt Florence is so pitiful; we just want to celebrate her birthday with her.” My son and Florence were urging Bradley.
“Dad, hurry over. We’re about to cut the cake.”
“Bradley, are you done yet?”
Before hanging up, Bradley helplessly instructed me:
“Stop causing trouble. Tommy and I will be back later.”
How ironic!
I was in the emergency room, while my husband and son were busy celebrating someone else’s birthday.

In the end, I signed the consent form for the surgery myself. The doctor said I was lucky—just a mild concussion and a fractured collarbone. The person who was brought to the hospital with me didn’t survive. Later, the traffic police came to investigate, and I realized that if it weren’t for the kind person who pulled me out, the one lying in the morgue would be me. “We’ve detained the drunk driver. The person who saved you has late-stage lung cancer. Even if he survives, he won’t live much longer. It’s tragic for the little girl he left behind. She was born without a mother, and now her only relative is gone. Sigh.” A little girl of about six or seven, with red eyes, sat quietly at the entrance to the morgue. A tiny figure, her eyes vacant as she stared at a certain spot.
No one could persuade her to leave. She refused to move, her small hands clinging to the door handle until her nails turned outward and blood flowed, as if she couldn’t feel the pain.
“I’m not going anywhere. Wherever Dad is, that’s where I’ll be.”
That sight reminded me of myself as a child sitting in an orphanage. I knelt down to her level and blurted out:
“Your father has gone to heaven. Will you stay with me from now on? I’ll be your mother.”
The little girl’s round eyes widened, her eyelashes trembling. Suddenly, her eyes filled with tears, and she threw herself into my arms, wailing uncontrollably.
And so, I gained a daughter. Perhaps because she had never had a mother, Cherry was more mature and cautious than other children her age, like a little hedgehog.
Only when facing me would Cherry put away her prickles.
“Mom, you’re not alone. You can rely on Cherry.”
During my three-day hospital stay, Cherry never left my side, her little face tense as if I might disappear at any moment. She took the spoon and fed me mouthful by mouthful. After ten months of pregnancy, I suffered heavy bleeding during childbirth and narrowly escaped death before giving birth to a son. However, this son was not as heart-wrenching as an adopted one.
Cherry often put on a face and pretended to be angry, telling me to rest more and to order her around when I was eating or drinking.
But my biological son hadn’t sent a single message in all these days.
Only a cold, indifferent statement:
“Mom, Aunt Florence likes to watch the sea. Dad is taking us to the beach these days. Don’t come bother us!”

“Mom, don’t cry, don’t cry. You like the sea. Cherry will go with you after you are discharged from the hospital.”
Cherry comforted me awkwardly.
Hearing this, I touched my own face, feeling the cold tears on my fingertips.
I forced a smile and nodded, thinking the matter was over.
On the day of discharge, I took Cherry to complete the adoption procedures, then returned to the old house. The old house was quiet and deserted.
Since my mother-in-law passed away two years ago, the housekeeper and Aunt Jane have retired and returned to their hometown. The family had hired several maids, but they all quit.
In Bradley’s words, no one is as attentive as I am. He persuaded me to resign from my company position and stay home as a full-time housewife.
“Our son is still young. I don’t feel at ease having others take care of him. You should do it, Gina.” Tommy, our son, is just like his father—picky and demanding. Without patience, it’s impossible to endure.
“Childhood only comes once; it’s the perfect time to build a bond. Otherwise, Tommy won’t be close to you when he grows up.”
Unfortunately, Bradley was wrong this time.
I spent time and effort accompanying my son, but I couldn’t compete with his childhood sweetheart Florence’s toys and compliments.
Now, he not only refuses to be close to me but even resents my presence. As I was folding clothes, my gaze suddenly fell on the family photo frame, now cracked and damaged, and my heart ached.
Last week, I cooked a feast of Tommy’s favorite dishes and bought him his beloved toy, hoping to mend our mother-son relationship.
But when I went to pick him up from kindergarten that afternoon, the teacher told me he hadn’t come to school and had taken the day off. Fearing something had happened to him, I frantically contacted Bradley.
“I took him out to play.”
Bradley didn’t mention where they went or who else was with them.
But I didn’t need to guess—I saw another version of the story in Florence’s social media post.
They were wearing matching headbands, standing at the Disney entrance, happily giving the camera a thumbs-up. In that moment, all my worries turned into a big joke.
I sat in the living room until ten o’clock at night.
Father and son finally returned.
Seeing my tired expression, my son Tommy’s first reaction was to get angry, upset that my calls had ruined their fun.
He threw the toy I bought on the ground and stomped on it until it broke. Perhaps still not satisfied, he smashed the photo frame and shouted at me:
“You’re a bad mom! Aunt Florence will play with me. I only want her to be my mom!”
My blood felt like it had frozen, and a chill ran from my head to my toes. I reached out to hold his hand and explain, but my son turned away in disgust, avoiding my touch.
He ran straight upstairs. Throughout this, Bradley only said, “Gina, don’t argue with the child.” He always acted like this, pretending to be a kind father. In raising the children, I always played the strict role while he played the lenient one.

“Mom, let’s not keep anything that’s cracked.” Cherry turned the photo album upside down on the table, hooked my finger, and shook it gently. My thoughts came to an abrupt halt. I smiled at her and looked away. Once something is broken, it’s broken. Even if it’s repaired, it doesn’t change the fact that it was damaged. I packed up my things and moved them to another apartment under my name. It was a three-bedroom apartment. Cherry and I each had our own room, and I partitioned the remaining room into two walk-in closets. The space wasn’t large, but it was cozy. I organized Cherry’s belongings and felt a pang of sadness seeing the empty wardrobe. I was considering taking her to the mall tomorrow to buy some new clothes. “Mom, come quick! I have something to show you.” Cherry mysteriously pulled me toward the bedroom. As soon as I opened the door, I saw a large doodle of the sea.
There were two small figures beside it, one big and one small.
Cherry awkwardly held it up in front of me, her eyes shining brightly.
“Mom, do you like the sea Cherry made?”
I looked down at her, her face smudged with paint, but the light in her eyes was even more dazzling than the painting.
As I looked at her, tears began to fall. “Mom, don’t cry. Did Cherry draw it badly? Cherry won’t draw anymore. Mom, don’t cry.”
Cherry fidgeted nervously, tiptoeing to wipe my tears.
I suddenly laughed, hugged her close, and said softly, “Mom really likes the painting Cherry drew.”
Before Cherry came into my life, all the fragments of the sea in my mind were unpleasant memories. Shortly after I was born, my parents abandoned me on the beach to fend for myself.
If it weren’t for the director picking me up and taking me back to the orphanage, I probably wouldn’t have survived until now.
Later, Bradley’s mother came to the orphanage to do charity work and took a fancy to me at first sight, sponsoring me to go to university. During my senior year internship, Bradley’s father suddenly died of a heart attack, and his company was targeted maliciously, facing the risk of bankruptcy. At the same time, Bradley’s childhood sweetheart moved abroad and cut off contact with him.
Under the weight of these blows, Bradley fell into despair, losing all traces of his former confident self.
I politely declined my mentor’s offer to study abroad and rejected numerous job offers from major domestic corporations, choosing instead to join Group Scott.
During those years, I stayed by his side, enduring countless sleepless nights. Later, we traveled to a coastal city on a business trip and secured a major partnership.
This collaboration was significant, marking the company’s official return to stability and the dawn of a new era.
We were both overjoyed, drank without restraint, and then had sex.
“Gina, let’s get married.”
After years of love and companionship, my wish had finally come true.
However, Bradley had married me out of sheer desperation. After that night, I became pregnant.
Old Mrs. Scott had always been pleased with me and had long wanted me to be her daughter-in-law.
Under pressure from multiple parties, Bradley agreed to marry me.
After marriage, we lived in harmony and enjoyed a relatively happy and fulfilling time.
Until last year, when Florence suddenly returned to the country, shattering our peaceful marriage.

On the day Florence returned, Bradley didn’t come home all night. I called him, but his phone was turned off. Maybe he had some urgent work that he couldn’t get away from. I comforted myself with this thought, making excuses for him, but I was also deceiving myself. If the company really had a major problem that required the president to step in and resolve, he wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to avoid me. I dared not think further, dared not consider the worst-case scenario.
“Ding.”
My phone popped up a Instagram friend request notification, and I clicked “accept” without thinking.
After accepting, the other party didn’t say a word.
I clicked into her Moments, and my mind froze for a second.
【It’s so good to see you right after returning home, so happy!】 The hands resting on the steering wheel in the photo—I recognized them instantly as Bradley’s.
It’s ironic that the watch he was wearing that day was the one I had carefully selected for him.
I studied the photo repeatedly, zooming in and out, until I focused on his left hand.
The ring finger that had once worn a wedding ring was now bare, with only a faint imprint remaining. I collapsed onto the sofa, sitting there motionless all night until dawn.
Bradley had finally returned.
I stared at him blankly. He glanced at me in surprise for a moment before shifting his gaze away and casually explained, “There was something at work yesterday, so I couldn’t leave.”
“If there was something at work, then why was Florence there too?” I blurted out. Bradley paused mid-sip, his tone both stiff and impatient:
“She just returned to the country. Can’t old friends meet up? You’re being unreasonable!”
He didn’t linger any longer and stormed out.
After that unpleasant incident, we went through a period of cold war.
Perhaps because I was used to compromising, I wanted to take the initiative to ease the relationship between us, so I took lunch to Bradley’s company. The front desk recognized me and knew I was the president’s wife, so I was able to proceed smoothly.
When I arrived at the president’s office, the secretary rushed out, her face looking uneasy.
I ignored her and pushed open the door.
I saw Bradley patiently cutting lobster, while Florence sat in his chair, propping her chin up with her hand and chatting with him. The ambiguous atmosphere between the two made me feel like an outsider, like a vicious mistress who broke up a couple. I stared at Bradley’s hands, and suddenly felt a surge of acid in my stomach, an inexplicable nausea.
“You… why are you here?”
Bradley didn’t look up, asking casually.
“If she can come, why can’t I?”

Before I could react, the company board called Bradley away. As soon as Bradley left, the delicate smile on Florence’s face vanished. She calmly picked up her gloves, her red lips parting slightly. “Now that I think about it, I seem more qualified to be Ms. Scott than you. “A stand-in is always a stand-in. I’m back, and you don’t seem to have much of a chance anymore, do you?” She bit into the lobster Bradley had cut, her lips curving into a smug smile.
She was certain she would win.
After all, Bradley had always been on her side.
In the middle of the night, she made a single call and effortlessly took him away from me.
Bradley was like that, and my son was even more so.
“Your husband and son both like me. What can you do? You’re so pitiful.” Florence sent a photo of them at the beach.
I glanced at it and tapped the screen, “It’s all yours. I don’t want it anymore.”
As soon as the message was sent, I blocked her.
My attention shifted back to Cherry, who was standing on a small stool, turning on the gas stove.
I couldn’t help but urge her to order takeout or hire a part-time worker. Cherry puckered her lips, holding the spatula, and said to me, “Cherry said Mom can rely on Cherry.”
She skillfully boiled the noodles, fried the egg, and turned off the heat.
Her movements were seamless.
A plate of creamy mushroom pasta appeared on the table.
I instinctively picked up the fork, but Cherry quickly pressed down on my wrist. She swirled up a strand of pasta, blew on it to cool it down, and held it to my lips.
“Mom just had surgery, so let Cherry do it.”
I was stunned.
All this time, I’ve been the one taking care of Tommy and the others. When I got sick, I went to the hospital myself to get an IV. I’ve rarely been cared for so tenderly.
The warmth I couldn’t get from Tommy was fully compensated for in the short time I spent with Cherry. A week passed in the blink of an eye.
Bradley and his son, whom I hadn’t thought about in ages, suddenly reached out to me.
“Where did you go? The house is empty.”
Bradley’s voice was flat, and I didn’t bother to guess his intentions.
“I moved out.”
He paused, then sighed helplessly, “What are you doing? We’re just going out for a few days.”
I scoffed, feeling inexplicably annoyed. During our marriage, he had the nerve to blame me for going on a trip with another woman?
“Gina, come back quickly. It’s raining and thundering tonight, and Tommy can’t sleep without you.”
He thought this time would be like before, and I’d give in.
“What, the new mom isn’t going to comfort him?”
“Gina, are you done yet…”
I cut him off directly, “ I’m not done. I’ve sent the divorce agreement to your email. Sign it quickly. I’ll make room for you both.”

Within a month, Bradley still didn’t think I was serious about divorcing him. He just thought it was another one of my tricks. “Gina, I admit I went too far this time. You don’t have to act anymore. Just come home. I’ll forget about what you said about divorcing me earlier.” I frowned at him.
Tommy rolled down the car window and said discontentedly,
“Dad, Mom is acting this way on her own. Don’t interfere with her!
Hurry up! I’ve already made plans with Aunt Florence, and we’re going to be late!”
Hearing this, I felt no emotion, and urged Bradley with a half-smile.
“Did you hear that, Mr. Scott? The sooner we divorce, the sooner we’ll be free.” Bradley stared at me for a moment before saying,
“Don’t regret this. “ “After the divorce, you won’t get custody of Tommy.”
He was certain I wouldn’t dare to divorce him, confident that he had me by the throat.
After all, the child was my life.
“That’s for the best. He doesn’t like me, and I don’t want to keep raising a thankless brat.” I didn’t lower my voice on purpose, and Tommy in the car looked over at the sound, a flash of panic in his eyes.
Half an hour later.
I walked out of the civil affairs bureau in a good mood, photoed the divorce certificate and announced the good news of my new single status on my social media.
Bradley beside me had a dark, unclear expression.
He was holding Tommy’s hand, as if he had something to say to me. But I didn’t want to listen, so I drove off.
The father and son in the rearview mirror stood there in a daze, seemingly feeling somewhat dejected.
I averted my gaze, just thinking that I had been dazzled.
Now no one would interfere with their time with Florence. They should be happy, not sad.
Whether they were happy or sad, it no longer concerned me. I began preparing for work and arranging Cherry’s enrollment, I was so busy that I had no time to rest .
One day, I suddenly received a call from Tommy’s homeroom teacher.
“Tommy’s mother, there’s something I need to discuss with you. Has something happened to Tommy? He’s usually such a well-behaved child, but lately he’s been getting into arguments and fights with his classmates…”
I hadn’t heard from the father and son in about two months. Upon hearing this, I felt unusually calm.
“We’ve divorced. Tommy isn’t under my care anymore. Please contact his parents for any matters regarding him.”
The homeroom teacher was taken aback; “He only left your phone number and told us to contact you.”
“I’m not his mother.”
I hung up the phone immediately.