My Coldhearted Husband'S Regret novel Chapter 117

117 A Grandmother’s True Delight

117 A Grandmother’s True Delight

Elara’s POV

Cora’s face fell. “But I want to play more!”

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“For Eleanor’s birthday. Present as if we selected together. -D”

“Elara, you won’t believe what I just heard,” she said, her voice tight with controlled excitement.

Yet here it was.

“For my grandmother,” I replied. “Something meaningful.”

I answered, curious about why she was calling so late in the afternoon.

Cora’s face lit up. “Oh! Daddy brought them yesterday. He said they’re for Great–Grandma’s birthday.”

I quickly closed both boxes. “Just a minute, sweetheart!”

With shaking hands, I opened the second box. Inside was the embroidered painting scroll–another item I’d lingered over at the auction, this one depicting cranes in flight over mountains. The detail was breathtaking, each stitch placed with master craftsmanship.

In the past, I would have given in immediately. Today felt different. I was reclaiming something–my time, my choices.

My confusion must have shown on my face.

“It’s perfect,” I said, feeling a sense of certainty. This gift would mean more to her than any expensive jewelry set.

“Mom, can we stay longer?” Cora asked as we prepared to leave the playground.

Walking back to my car, I felt lighter than I had in months. This small act of choosing something meaningful represented more than just a gift–it was a statement about the person I wanted to be again. Someone who made choices based on genuine connection rather than obligation or appearance.

117 A Grandmother’s True Delight

“The green jewels are from you and Daddy,” Cora explained matter–of–factly. “And the bird picture is from Great–Grandma Eleanor. Daddy said it’s important everyone thinks you picked them out together.”

I stood frozen in my bedroom, staring at the two elegant boxes on my vanity. The larger burgundy one with gold trim looked va ely familiar. Curiosity got the better of me, and I carefully lifted the lid.

My modest writing set might cost a fraction of the emerald jewelry, but I knew which one would bring my grandmother true joy.

She nodded knowingly and brought out a wooden case from beneath her counter. “Perhaps this?”

I remembered pointing it out to Damien, mentioning how much Eleanor would love it. He had merely nodded, seemingly disinterested.

Tucking the card into my pocket, I hurried downstairs to find Cora twirling in her sparkly pink dress.

The antique market was less crowded in late afternoon. I wandered through stalls filled with treasures from another era, searching for something that would speak to my grandmother’s heart.

I traced my fingers along the inkstone, feeling its smooth surface. Clara had always loved calligraphy–she had taught me the art when I was young, spending hours guiding my hand through the graceful movements.

The pieces clicked into place. These weren’t gifts for me–they were props for maintaining appearances. Damien wanted everyone to believe we were still a united front for his grandmother’s birthday.

I thought of the card still in my pocket–the one that had been attached to Damien’s gifts. I hadn’t read it yet, fearing whatever instructions or explanations it contained would diminish this small victory.

“She is,” I said simply. “She taught me the value of thoughtfulness.”

“We can do whatever you’d like,” I said, taking her hand as we walked outside. “But first, I need to ask you something. Do you know about those boxes in my old room?”

As promised, our day was filled with Cora’s favorite activities. We spent hours at the

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117 A Grandmother’s True Delight

late afternoon, her enerowsed the

park, had ice cream, and

toy store where Cora picked out a new doll. By was finally waning.

“It belonged to a respected scholar during the Ming Dynasty,” the vendor explained. “The craftsmanship is exceptional.”

Leaning against my car, I finally pulled it out a

unfolded it.

“Mom? Are you coming?” Cora’s voice drifted up from downstairs.

I wasn’t sure what I had expected–perhaps a birthday wish for Eleanor, or even an acknowledgment that the items were connected to my observations at the auction. Instead, it was purely transactional.

Clara had always appreciated thoughtful gifts over extravagant ones. Unlike Eleanor Thorne, who enjoyed displaying her wealth, Clara.valued items with history and meaning.

Cora looked stunned at my refusal, but I remained firm. After giving her a quick hug, I spoke quietly with the bodyguards, instructing them to bring her home in an hour.

My breath caught. Inside lay the emerald and diamond jewelry set I’d admired at the Baumond Charity Auction last month. The exquisite necklace featured a stunning emerald pendant surrounded by diamonds that caught the light perfectly. Matching earrings nestled beside it.

A small booth near the back caught my eye. The elderly vendor smiled as I approached.

No pleasantries. No personal message. Just cold instructions, confirming exactly what

Cora had said.

The scholar’s writing set was beautiful in its simplicity–a carved inkstone, bamboo brushes with jade handles, and a small seal carved from stone. Each piece rested in its own velvet–lined compartment.

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