My Coldhearted Husband’s Regret

The Bella night air felt different as Veronica Murray stepped off the plane at 9:15 PM. Perhaps it was the salt from the nearby Mediterranean, or perhaps it was the weight of expectations she carried across continents.

It was her birthday—a fact her phone reminded her of as she turned it on. Messages flooded in from colleagues and friends, their warm wishes illuminating her screen. Yet the one name she searched for remained conspicuously absent. Cullen Dennis—her husband of nearly seven years—hadn't sent a single word.

The smile that had brightened her face moments before faded like a sunset giving way to night.

By the time her driver pulled up to the sprawling coastal villa, the clock had ticked past 10:00 PM. Chelsea Marvin, their housekeeper, nearly dropped the vase she was arranging when Veronica walked through the door.

"Mrs. Dennis!" Chelsea's eyes widened in surprise. "We weren't expecting you."

"Where are Cullen and Sa?" Veronica asked, slipping off her light jacket.

Chelsea smoothed down her apron. "Mr. Dennis hasn't returned yet, and Ms. Dennis is in her room playing."

Veronica handed her luggage to Chelsea and made her way upstairs. She found Sabrina sitting cross-legged at her desk, hunched over something with such intense focus that she didn't notice her mother standing in the doorway.

"Sa?" Veronica called softly.

The little girl's head snapped up, her eyes widening briefly before she chirped, "Mom!" Then, just as quickly, her attention returned to whatever project commanded her concentration.

Veronica crossed the room and wrapped her arms around her daughter from behind. She pressed a kiss to Sabrina's soft cheek, inhaling the strawberry scent of her shampoo. A few months had been too long without this—without her.

"Mom, I'm busy right now," Sabrina squirmed, pushing away from the embrace.

Reluctantly, Veronica loosened her hold. Her chest ached with unspent affection, but she wouldn't force it on her daughter. Instead, she peered over Sabrina's shoulder. "Are you making a seashell necklace?"

"Mm-hm!" Sabrina's enthusiasm returned instantly. "Niall's birthday is next week. This is the gift Dad and I are making for her. We polished all these shells with special tools. Aren't they pretty?"

Veronica's throat tightened around words she couldn't form. Before she could compose herself, Sabrina continued excitedly, "Dad even ordered a custom gift for Niall. Tomorrow—" Thе М|V|LЕ&МРYR tеаm wоrkеd hаrd оn this сhаptеr.

"Sa…" Veronica interrupted, unable to bear another word. "Do you remember it's my birthday today?"

"Huh? What?" Sabrina glanced up distractedly before returning to her careful arrangement of shells. "Mom, don't talk to me right now. You're making me lose count of the beads—"

Veronica's hands fell away from her daughter's shoulders. She stood there, invisible, while Sabrina continued stringing shells without looking up again. Finally, Veronica turned and left the room, her footsteps silent on the plush carpet.

Chelsea approached as she descended the stairs. "I just called Mr. Dennis. He said he has something to attend to tonight and suggested you rest first."

"I see." The words felt hollow in Veronica's mouth.

Remembering Sabrina's excitement about Cullen's plans for Niall, she pulled out her phone and called her husband. The line rang for what seemed like eternity before he answered.

"I'm busy. Let's talk tomorrow—" His voice was clipped, impatient.

Then, a woman's voice floated through the connection. "Cullen, who's calling at this hour?"

Niall.

Veronica's fingers tightened around the phone.

"Nothing important," Cullen replied to Niall, dismissing Veronica's call—dismissing her—with those two simple words.

Before she could speak, the line went dead.

They hadn't seen each other in a few months. She had flown across the world, and he couldn't spare thirty seconds to speak with her. He was with Niall instead. Of course he was.

After seven years of marriage, she should be used to his coldness, his distance, his impatience. And perhaps she was. Tonight, she simply didn't have the strength to call him back and ask where he was, when he'd be home. For once, exhaustion won over persistence.

Morning brought fresh resolve. There was still time to salvage the trip, even if her birthday itself was a loss. Veronica called Cullen again, hoping the new day might bring a new attitude.

He didn't answer. Eventually, a text appeared: "What's up?"

Veronica typed carefully: "Do you have time at noon? Let's take Sa out for a family lunch."

His reply came quickly: "Okay. Send me the address when you decide."

"Alright," she responded, staring at the screen, waiting for something more. A "happy birthday," perhaps. Even a simple "looking forward to it."

Nothing came.

Veronica put her phone down and went to shower, trying to wash away her disappointment along with the travel fatigue. As she was dressing, she overheard voices from downstairs.

"Aren't you happy your mother is here, Ms. Dennis?" Chelsea asked.

"Dad and I already promised to take Niall to the beach tomorrow," Sabrina complained. "If Mom comes too, it'll be so awkward. And Mom is so mean to Niall all the time—"

"Ms. Dennis," Chelsea's voice was gentle but firm. "Mrs. Dennis is your mother. Such words will hurt her feelings deeply."

"I know, but Dad and I like Niall better. Why can't Niall be my mom instead?"

Chelsea's response was too quiet for Veronica to hear.

She stood frozen in her bedroom, one earring dangling from her fingers. She had raised Sabrina herself for years while Cullen built his business empire. But since moving to Bella with her father last year—a move Veronica had reluctantly agreed to because she couldn't bear Sabrina's tears—her daughter had changed. Or rather, their relationship had.

Veronica's hand trembled as she set down the earring. She had pushed aside important meetings and flown fourteen hours to surprise her family. For what? To discover neither of them wanted her here.

She returned to her suitcase and carefully repacked the gifts she'd brought—a limited edition collector's watch for Cullen, a handcrafted jewelry box for Sabrina. What was the point?

Later, Chelsea informed her that she had taken Sabrina to the children's museum. Veronica nodded numbly, then left the villa herself, wandering through Bella's cobbled streets with no destination in mind.

By noon, she remembered the lunch she'd planned. Should she return for Sabrina? The memory of her daughter's words that morning made her hesitate.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Cullen: "Something came up at noon. Lunch is canceled."

Veronica stared at the screen, feeling nothing. Not surprise. Not anger. Not even disappointment. This was Cullen's pattern—work, friends, anything and everything came before her. Plans with her were suggestions, easily discarded at the slightest inconvenience.

She wandered into a shopping district, and without thinking, her feet carried her toward La Maison de Pierre—a restaurant she and Cullen had frequented during happier times. Before he'd met Niall.

As she approached, she saw them through the window—Cullen, Niall, and Sabrina seated at a corner table, laughing together.

Niall sat beside Sabrina, her elegant hand gesturing animatedly as she spoke. Sabrina, legs swinging with excitement, giggled and leaned against Niall, taking a bite from the pastry in Niall's hand. Cullen watched them both, a rare smile softening his handsome features, his eyes never leaving Niall's face.

They looked like a family. A real one.

Veronica stood outside, invisible behind the glass, watching as another woman occupied the place that should have been hers—beside her husband, beside her child. The daughter she had carried for nine months. The daughter she had nearly died bringing into the world.

A laugh escaped her lips—a hollow, bitter sound that startled even herself.

She turned away and walked back to the villa with mechanical steps. In Cullen's study, she found paper and pen. With steady hands, she drafted a divorce agreement, her legal training making the process efficient. When finished, she sealed it in an envelope and handed it to Chelsea.

"Please give this to Mr. Dennis when he returns," she said calmly.

Chelsea looked concerned. "Are you going somewhere, Mrs. Dennis?"

"Yes." Veronica retrieved her suitcase. "I'm going home."

Cullen Dennis had been her teenage dream, but he had never truly seen her. If not for that one night and the pressure from his grandfather, Douglas Dennis, they would never have married. For years, she had believed that patience and devotion would eventually open his eyes to her worth.

Seven years was long enough to realize some dreams would never come true.

As the car pulled away from the villa, Veronica looked straight ahead. "To the airport, please," she told the driver, leaving behind the life she had tried and failed to build.