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Too Late for Regret
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I stopped fighting. The moment I came back, I stepped out of the family spotlight on purpose— no arguments, no expectations, no awkward “let’s bond” moments. And somehow… that’s when my parents lost their minds. They made my little sister the heir? I congratulated them and filed my transfer to the Vegas branch the same afternoon. They threw her a massive coming-of-age gala? I smiled, booked a flight, and left before the invitations were printed. They bought her a limited-edition luxury car? I claimed my “old wrist injury” made driving impossible and insisted she take it. I thought they’d be relieved. I thought they’d finally get their perfect family without me messing up the picture. But instead—my cold, distant parents started calling nonstop. Showing up at my door. Pleading with me to come home. Asking what they did wrong. Why now? Why only when I stopped trying? Because in my last life, I spent decades clawing for their love— only to die bitter, resented, and humiliated. Even my grown son told me I was embarrassing. This time, I came back different. I refused to fight for a place in their world again. I refused to compete with my sister. I refused to beg. But the moment I stepped away… the entire family empire began to crack. And now they’re terrified. Not because I left— but because they finally realized what they lost.
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Too Late for Regret Chapter 7
After returning to Nevada, I tossed my suitcase directly into the container dormitory and was climbing a wind turbine platform three hours later.The desert wind, like sandpaper, polished away every last trace of emotion left over from the hospital visit.Headquarters approved my promotion to “Senior Field Engineer,” tripling my salary and adding stock options. I put a down payment on a fair apartment, the balcony facing the Red Rock sunset—the deed only carried the name Rhea R., no prefix required.Mother’s calls changed from “occasional” to “routine.” The pictures she described were always the same:Don Carlo was moodier after his discharge, often locking himself in his study, staring at cigars.Elena moved to Chicago after the wedding, only coming home to withdraw funds when her accounts were low.The mansion was too large; even voices echoed.I responded with “Mmm” and “Oh”, my fingers never leaving the keyboard—I needed to finish modeling the turbine subsidence data; I had no time
Too Late for Regret Chapter 6
In the end, I abandoned my planned trip to Sicily.Two days later, on an impulse I couldn’t quite name, I found myself on a red-eye flight back to New York.I hadn’t told a soul.By the time the taxi pulled up to St. Vincent’s Private Hospital, the sky was a pale gray. The VIP floor was silent save for the beeping of the monitoring equipment.I stood at the end of the hallway, still interrogating my own motive: Duty? Or that tiny spark of expectation, too faint to even count as an ember, that had reignited?I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.The room was quiet, broken only by the regular beep of the monitoring equipment.Don Carlo Elio was propped up against the headboard, his eyes closed, his face pale—asleep, perhaps. He looked frailer than he had two years ago, his temples showing more gray.My mother, Adrianna, wasn’t there, only a nurse quietly tidying the side table.The nurse looked up, startled, clearly not recognizing me.I signaled her to be quiet and moved gently
Too Late for Regret Chapter 5
Six months into my field assignment, I volunteered for the transfer to the farthest corner: the “Valley of Fire” Project. We traveled to the Black Rock Desert in northern Nevada, staying in a trailer camp with intermittent satellite signal. By day, I ran geological profiles through canyons with a theodolite and core boxes; by night, I dumped the data into my laptop, joyfully losing myself in the work.One evening, just as I came down from the mountain, my phone caught one bar of signal at the trailer door and immediately vibrated—Mother.I walked to the top of the dirt slope to answer.“Rhea! You finally picked up!” Her voice carried a restrained urgency. “I was beginning to fear the worst, not hearing anything from you.”“I’m out in the field, can hardly get a signal in here,” I said calmly.“Oh… the desert, is it hard?” She paused, as if choosing her words carefully. “Are you… alright?”“I’m fine.”“Well… your father he—”I remained silent, waiting for her to continue.“Actually,
Too Late for Regret Chapter 4
The red-eye flight bucked over the desert, the engine’s roar a low, constant requiem.But I slept better than I had in years—no cigar smoke, no Sicilian dialect scolding, and certainly no pitying upward inflection on “Signorina”. I was just a small-time worker, exiled to a goddamn desert wind project.After a two-hour-and-forty-minute flight, the landing gear smashed onto runway 05R, and the Vegas heat hit the window like a fist. The sky was high, a cobalt blue stained with a hint of neon purple; the air was so dry it felt ready to ignite.I pulled my hoodie low, dragging my 20-inch carry-on through the terminal, vanishing into the crowd like a droplet of water hitting the sand and instantly evaporating.The Uber I’d booked dropped me at a grayish-pink single-story apartment on the edge of Henderson. The wrought-iron sign was rusty, but it perfectly blocked the blinding neon from the casino across the street.It was a one-bed, one-bath, 550 square feet. The floorboards creaked underfoo
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