My Coldhearted Husband’s Regret

The items spread across her vanity table seemed to await her attention, just like the property deed had appeared there days before.

Veronica approached slowly, her fingertips grazing the smooth surface of one rounded jewelry case. The weight of it felt substantial in her palm as she lifted the lid.

Her breath caught in her throat. Nestled against midnight blue velvet lay the emerald necklace and matching earrings she had admired at the auction house. The stones caught the afternoon light streaming through her window, casting tiny rainbows across the walls.

The second box demanded her attention with its rectangular shape and considerable heft. Her pulse quickened as she recognized the dimensions.

She set down the emerald case and opened the larger container. The silk scroll lay protected within custom padding, its ancient beauty preserved for centuries.

Moving to the circular table near her window, Veronica unfurled the scroll with reverent care. The embroidered artwork bloomed before her eyes, each thread catching light like spun gold. Mountains and rivers flowed across the fabric with breathtaking realism, the craftsmanship so exquisite it seemed to pulse with life.

These two treasures she had longed for at the auction now rested in her private chambers. The irony wasn't lost on her.

She understood Cullen's strategy perfectly. One gift would carry Cook's name, the other would represent their marriage. Both calculated moves in his endless chess game with her grandmother.

"Mom, I finished my lunch! Can we leave now?" Sabrina's voice echoed up the staircase, followed by the rapid patter of her feet.

Her daughter appeared in the doorway, eyes immediately drawn to the open cases. She peered inside with casual interest, as if million dollar artifacts were everyday occurrences in their home.

"Oh, those. Dad brought them home earlier this week. He mentioned they were yours now."

Veronica nodded wordlessly, carefully returning the scroll to its protective casing. Her movements were precise, methodical, as she secured both boxes in her armoire.

The shooting range proved to be exactly what Sabrina needed. Her daughter's natural aim impressed the instructors, and her competitive spirit blazed as she hit target after target. The roller coaster followed, Sabrina's delighted screams mixing with the mechanical roar of the ride.

Hours passed in this familiar dance of maternal devotion. But as afternoon shadows lengthened, Veronica felt the familiar tug of her own neglected needs.

"Mom, can we try the haunted house next? And then maybe the water rides?" Sabrina bounced on her toes, energy seemingly endless.

In the past, Veronica would have surrendered immediately. Her daughter's happiness had always trumped her own desires, leaving her own plans scattered like autumn leaves.

Today felt different.

"I have other obligations to attend to. The bodyguards can accompany you if you'd like to continue."

Sabrina's face crumpled into her practiced pout, the expression that had won countless battles over the years. She pressed against Veronica's side, arms wrapping around her waist with calculated sweetness.

"Mom, please? Just one more hour?"

The familiar manipulation technique hung in the air between them. Veronica could feel her daughter's confidence, the certainty that this approach would yield the desired result.

Instead, Veronica gently disentangled herself from Sabrina's embrace. Her voice remained soft but carried an unfamiliar steel.

"This truly cannot wait. We'll have another day together very soon."

Something in her mother's tone made Sabrina step back. The slight tension around Veronica's eyes suggested serious business, the kind that brooked no argument.

"I guess that's okay," Sabrina conceded, though her disappointment was evident.

After ensuring the security detail understood their responsibilities, Veronica slipped away to her car. The antique market she'd selected lay across the city, deliberately chosen for its distance from her usual haunts.

Vendor stalls stretched endlessly, filled with treasures and trinkets from bygone eras. She moved through them with purpose, examining jade carvings, porcelain vases, and silk paintings. Nothing captured her attention until she reached a corner booth specializing in scholarly implements.

There, displayed on burgundy silk, sat a writing set that made her heart skip. The fountain pen gleamed with mother of pearl inlays, its gold nib catching light like a tiny star. Crystal ink bottles sat beside sheets of handmade paper so fine it seemed translucent. The craftsmanship spoke of master artisans, each element perfect in its simplicity.

"The materials come from the imperial workshops," the vendor explained, noting her interest. "Fifteenth century techniques, recreated by the last living master of the craft."

The price tag made her pause briefly. Over ten million for a writing set seemed extravagant by most standards. Compared to the emerald jewelry and silk scroll waiting in her bedroom, however, it represented a fraction of their value.

But money wasn't the consideration that mattered here.

She could picture her grandmother's face upon receiving this gift. The old woman's eyes would light up, her fingers would trace each element with reverence. Where others might see expensive trinkets, her grandmother would recognize a tool for creating beauty, for preserving thoughts and memories in elegant script.

The vendor wrapped her purchase with ceremonial care, each piece nestled in custom silk pouches before being placed in a lacquered wooden box.

Driving home, Veronica found herself smiling for the first time in days. This gift carried her love, her understanding of what truly brought her grandmother joy. No calculation, no strategic positioning, just pure affection translated into tangible form.

The contrast with Cullen's offerings couldn't be starker. His gifts impressed with their monetary value and public recognition. Hers would touch the soul.

Her phone buzzed against the dashboard as she pulled into her driveway. Whitney's name flashed across the screen, interrupting her moment of satisfaction.