My Coldhearted Husband’s Regret

Veronica lifted her hand to shield her nose briefly before dropping it and retreating a step, creating more space between them. Her movement was deliberate yet subtle.

Cullen remained oblivious to her silent withdrawal. His fingers traced the edge of the invitation as he opened it, scanning the elegant script inside. His eyebrows raised slightly. "A seventieth birthday celebration?"

"Yes." Her response came without the usual hesitation or the familiar pleading tone that once colored her requests. She offered no explanation about his schedule or gentle coaxing about making time. Instead, her words were crisp and matter-of-fact. "Please make sure your parents are informed."

Whether Cullen registered the absence of her customary entreaties remained unclear.

His gaze swept over her face briefly before he placed the invitation on the nearby dresser with practiced indifference. "Understood." Without another word, he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving her standing alone.

Veronica watched his retreating figure until the door clicked shut. The sound seemed to echo in the sudden quiet. She gathered the hairdryer she had been using, unplugged it methodically, and made her way to Sabrina's bedroom to help with her daughter's evening routine.

The next hour dissolved into the familiar rhythm of motherhood. She guided Sabrina through her shower, carefully washing the tangles from her hair, toweling it dry with gentle strokes, and helping her into soft pajamas. Each task provided a welcome distraction from the growing chasm in her marriage.

As Veronica tucked the covers around her daughter's small frame, Sabrina's arms wound around her neck with the desperate clutch of a child sensing tension. "Mommy, will you stay with me tonight?"

The question shouldn't have needed an answer. Given the frost that had settled between her and Cullen, the choice seemed obvious.

When Veronica returned to the master bedroom, she moved with quiet efficiency. She collected her pillow, grabbed a change of clothes, and gathered the small items she would need for the night. Cullen had positioned himself in bed with a thick novel, his attention seemingly absorbed in the pages.

"I'll be sleeping in Sabrina's room tonight," she announced, her voice carrying no emotion, no invitation for discussion.

He didn't raise his eyes from his book. A noncommittal sound escaped his throat, neither acknowledgment nor protest. He asked no questions about her decision and made no move to prevent her departure. The dismissal stung more than an argument would have.

Morning arrived with its usual demands. After breakfast, Veronica drove Sabrina to school, navigating the familiar streets while her daughter chattered about upcoming tests and playground politics. The normalcy of it provided temporary relief from her troubled thoughts.

At the office, guilt gnawed at her as she realized how completely work had consumed her recent weeks. Mary's milestone birthday was only days away, and she had nothing to show for her grandmother-in-law's decades of kindness and support.

During her lunch break, she reached for her phone and dialed Whitney's number. Her friend's voice carried its usual warmth when she answered.

"I need your help with shopping tonight," Veronica explained. "It's for Mary's birthday, and I'm completely unprepared."

Whitney's enthusiasm was immediate and genuine. "Of course! Mary deserves something truly special. We'll find the perfect gift."

The conversation reminded Veronica of another unfinished task. She still needed to personally deliver Aila's invitation, despite knowing how unwelcome her contact would be.

After ending her call with Whitney, she scrolled through her contacts until she found Aila's number. Her finger hovered over it momentarily before she pressed call.

The phone rang endlessly, each tone stretching longer than the last. No answer came.

Veronica understood Aila's feelings toward her perfectly. The woman harbored deep resentment for everyone bearing the Murray name, and Veronica had never been an exception to that hatred. Still, Cook's request demanded that she make the effort, regardless of personal feelings.

When the call finally disconnected, she tried once more. This time, the rejection was swift and decisive. The call was declined before the second ring.

The message was unmistakable. Aila was actively avoiding her.

Rather than feel insulted, Veronica experienced something closer to relief. She had fulfilled her obligation by attempting contact. Now she could document her efforts and move forward.

She composed a brief text message explaining the purpose of her calls and requesting a convenient time to deliver the birthday invitation. After sending it, she set her phone aside and returned to her work without waiting for a response that would likely never come.

That evening, she met Whitney at the upscale shopping district. They wandered through boutiques and department stores, examining jewelry, scarves, perfumes, and artwork. Hours passed as they debated the merits of various options, but nothing felt right for someone as refined and particular as Mary.

Frustration began to creep into their search when Whitney suddenly stopped walking. "Wait, I just remembered something. There's a charity auction happening the day after tomorrow. High-end pieces, unique items that you can't find in regular stores. It might be exactly what we need."

Veronica felt a spark of hope, then immediate disappointment. "I don't have an invitation to something like that."

Whitney's expression grew thoughtful, then slightly uncomfortable. "The invitations were distributed weeks ago. Getting one at this point would be nearly impossible through normal channels. Unless you could..."

She didn't need to finish the sentence. They both knew she was suggesting that Veronica approach Cullen for assistance, use his connections and influence to secure entry to the exclusive event.

The irony wasn't lost on either of them.

By nine o'clock, they had parted ways with plans to continue searching the following day. Veronica drove back to Cullen's villa through streets that grew quieter as she moved away from the city center.

When she pulled into the driveway, she noticed lights glowing from the study windows. Cullen was home, settled into his evening routine of reviewing documents and handling business that couldn't wait until morning.

She sat in her car for a moment, gathering the courage for what she knew she had to do.