My Coldhearted Husband’s Regret

Cook's watchful eyes had been tracking the subtle changes in Veronica's behavior for weeks now. The woman who once lit up around Cullen, who used to reach for his hand during dinner or steal glances when she thought no one was looking, had grown distant.

"This is entirely your doing," Cook said, her voice carrying the weight of disappointment as she fixed Cullen with a pointed stare.

For months, Veronica had been the one extending olive branches, making efforts, trying to bridge whatever gap existed between them. But every gesture had been met with Cullen's characteristic restraint, his polite but impenetrable wall of control.

Cullen's response was nothing more than that maddening half-smile he wore when he wanted to end a conversation without actually addressing it. The expression that revealed absolutely nothing while somehow managing to be condescending.

Veronica kept her focus on her plate, methodically cutting her food into precise pieces. Even when Cook's words hung in the air like an accusation, she didn't lift her eyes. She had perfected the art of becoming invisible at family dinners, of existing in the same space as Cullen without truly being present.

The shrill ring of Cullen's phone cut through the tension like a blade. He glanced at the screen, and something flickered across his features before he composed himself again. Rising from his chair with fluid grace, he stepped away from the table to take the call.

His absence lasted only minutes, but when he returned, there was a new energy about him. Controlled urgency.

"I need to handle something," he announced to Cook, already reaching for his jacket. "I'll be leaving now."

Sabrina's fork clattered against her plate as she looked up eagerly. She had that look in her eyes, the one that suggested she knew exactly who had called and where her father was headed.

"Can I come with you, Daddy?"

"Of course."

Cook turned to Veronica with the kind of hopeful expression that made Veronica's chest tighten. "You should go too, sweetheart. Tomorrow's Saturday, and you've been working so hard lately. Some fresh air would do you good."

For the first time during dinner, Veronica spoke clearly and decisively. "I can't, Grandma. I'm meeting someone tonight."

The disappointment in Cook's eyes was almost physical. "Oh. Well, if you must."

Sabrina practically bounded to Cullen's side, her relief poorly concealed. As they prepared to leave, she turned back with a brightness that felt performative.

"Bye, Mom."

"Take care," Veronica replied, her voice steady and unremarkable.

The front door closed with a soft click, followed by the sound of Cullen's car pulling away from the manor. The silence that followed felt both oppressive and liberating.

Veronica waited exactly ten minutes before gathering her purse and keys. As her own car wound down the long driveway away from Dennis Estate, she pressed the call button on her steering wheel.

"Dario."

"Veronica? What's wrong? You sound—"

"Cullen presented me with divorce papers today." The words came out clinical, matter-of-fact. "There's a property settlement included. I need a lawyer to review everything and make sure there aren't any legal traps I'm missing."

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor came through the phone, followed by what sounded like Dario choking on his drink.

"Are you serious? This is actually happening?"

Despite everything, Veronica found herself almost smiling at his enthusiasm. "Dead serious. Can you recommend someone reliable?"

"I'll have three options for you by morning. The best attorneys in the city."

"Perfect. Thank you."

After ending the call, Veronica drove through the city streets feeling lighter than she had in months. For the first time in years, she was taking action instead of simply enduring.

Back at the hospital, Sabrina had positioned herself in the chair closest to Niall's bed, chattering animatedly about school and friends while Cullen stood by the window. The scene looked comfortable, natural even. Like a real family.

Nate had excused himself to the hallway, where he immediately dialed Marco's number.

"It's happening," Nate said without preamble. "Cullen's moving forward with the divorce."

Marco had been walking through his hotel lobby when the call came. The words stopped him cold, causing other guests to flow around him like water around a stone.

"You're certain about this?"

"I was there when he handed her the papers. And get this—he's not giving her custody of Sabrina either."

Marco's knuckles went white where he gripped the phone. The familiar rage that had been simmering for months threatened to boil over.

"There's something else—" Nate began.

"I have to go," Marco cut him off abruptly. "I'll call you back."

Nate stared at his phone in confusion as the line went dead. "Well, that was rude."

Three hundred miles away, Marco was already scrolling through his contacts. His thumb hovered over Veronica's name for several long seconds before he finally pressed call.

Veronica had just pulled into her driveway when her phone rang. Marco's name on the display made her pause. They hadn't spoken in weeks, not since that awkward encounter at the charity gala.

"Hello, Marco. What can I do for you?"

The sound of her voice, so calm and professional, made his prepared words dissolve on his tongue. He wanted to ask if she was okay, if she needed anything, if there was any way he could help. But what right did he have?

"I..." He cleared his throat, searching for safe ground. "I wanted to discuss the situation with Cecelia."

Veronica settled back in her driver's seat, assuming this was about scheduling another meeting. His hesitation suggested he was being careful about something, probably trying not to push too hard about his daughter.

"If you're hoping to arrange another visit, I should mention that tomorrow won't work for me. I have several appointments to handle. Would early next week be better for you?"

The question hung between them, loaded with everything they weren't saying.