All Chapters of Regret Is Just The Beginning: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

For two weeks, Henry acted like Diana did not exist.If she entered a room during meetings at the institute, he would excuse himself within minutes. If their paths almost crossed in the hallway, he would turn in the opposite direction without hesitation. When donors gathered for briefings and she stood among the research team, his gaze would pass over her as if she were a piece of furniture.Not once did he address her directly.Not once did he acknowledge that night.The silence was deliberate.Calculated.And humiliating.Word spread quietly, as it always did in elite circles. No one confronted Diana openly, but the glances changed. Conversations would lower in volume when she approached. Smiles became thin and polite.The story twisted easily in the absence of truth.Diana kept her head down.She arrived earlier than usual and left later than everyone else. She buried herself in data sheets, research proposals, lab reviews. If she focused hard enough, she wouldn’t hear the whisper

The resignation letter sat on Diana’s desk for three days before she finally signed it.Each time she picked it up, her hand trembled slightly. The Eastwood Medical Research Institute was more than a workplace. It was where she had grown into herself. Where her intelligence had been recognized. Where her name meant something independent of any man.Now she was about to walk away from it.Merlin called her into his office the morning he received the notice. “You’re certain?” he asked quietly, holding the letter between his fingers.Diana nodded.“You worked too hard to build this career,” he said. “Pregnancy doesn’t end ambition.”She swallowed. “It’s not just pregnancy.”He leaned back in his chair, studying her carefully. “It’s him.”She didn’t deny it.“Marriage changes priorities,” she said instead.Merlin’s gaze sharpened. “Only if you allow it to erase you.”That lingered in the air.Diana lowered her eyes briefly. “I need to make this work.”“For him?” he asked.“For my child,”

Seven years into the marriage, Diana still refused to let it die quietly.She told herself that love was not always loud. That sometimes it had to be cultivated, watered patiently, even when the soil felt dry. She had seen marriages worse than hers survive. She had seen cold men soften with time.So she tried.One evening, Henry returned late.He entered the dining room, loosened his tie slightly, and paused when he saw the setup.“What’s this?” he asked flatly.“Our anniversary,” she replied gently.A flicker of memory passed across his face, then vanished.“I had a meeting,” he said.“I know. I waited.”He sat down but did not comment further. The meal proceeded in polite silence. Diana attempted light conversation about Selena’s school project, about a charity event the foundation was hosting.Henry responded in short, measured sentences.When dessert arrived untouched, he checked his phone.“I have an early start tomorrow,” he said, rising from his seat.She remained sitting.“It’

Henry remained seated on the floor long after the words on the document stopped moving before his eyes. His back rested against the wall, the polished surface cold through his shirt, but he barely felt it. The paper trembled faintly in his grasp as he read the bold heading again, as if repetition might change its meaning.“How did we get here?” he muttered under his breath, the words coming out strained and uneven. His chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath shallow. “Is it really too late? Divorced… for real?”Each word he forced himself to say felt heavy in his mouth, like something solid and painful that refused to pass easily. The finality of it pressed down on him in a way no business failure or public scandal ever had. This was not a deal he could renegotiate. Not a contract he could restructure. It was personal, irreversible, and entirely his fault.He did not hear the quick footsteps approaching until a small shadow fell across him.“Divorced?”The word was soft, trembling

Henry sat on the floor of his living room, his back bent awkwardly against the edge of the couch as though he had slid down there hours ago and never found the strength to rise again. The curtains were half drawn, letting in faint streaks of late morning light that did nothing to brighten the heaviness inside the room. Empty glasses cluttered the center table, and a half-finished bottle of whiskey rested loosely in his hand. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair unkempt, and the faint shadow of an unshaved beard darkened his jaw.It had been four days since that night at the Nobel Prize ceremony.Four days since he had watched everything collapse in public view.Four days since Diana had walked past him without a glance.Four days since he had finally understood the depth of his arrogance.“I miss you so much,” he muttered hoarsely, his voice rough from too much alcohol and too little sleep. He stared at the wall ahead of him without truly seeing it. The words didn't echo back. They dis