My Coldhearted Husband'S Regret novel Chapter 122

122 The Unspoken Judgment

122 The Unspoken Judgment

Cora shifted from foot to foot. “I didn’t…” she started, then glanced at me with panicked eyes. “Mom, I didn’t bring a present for Great–Grandma.”

“Careful on the stairs, Coco,” I cautioned automatically.

“I can’t wait to see it,” I smiled, then noticed Maria appearing with Cora’s overnight bag. “Thank you, Maria.”

“What a beautiful girl you are, Cora,” Clara said warmly. “Thank you for coming to celebrate with an old lady like me.”

“Maria has prepared everything.” He slipped his phone into his pocket. “She’s included the dress Cora will wear tomorrow.”

Of course he had. Damien Thorne never missed an opportunity to fulfill social obligations with expensive presents that required zero personal involvement.

Mr. Finch reappeared from the direction of the dining room. “Mr. Thorne, dinner will be served in twenty minutes. Will Ms. Vance and Miss Cora be joining you?”

Mr. Finch, the butler, greeted me at the door with his usual formality. “Good evening, Ms. Vance. Please come in. Miss Cora is just gathering her things.”

The next morning dawned bright and clear–perfect weather for Clara’s garden party. Cora woke early, bouncing with energy as she helped arrange flowers and set up decorations in the backyard.

“Did she mention Damien?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

“I won’t be attending Clara’s birthday celebration.”

The realization left a bitter taste in my mouth, sharper than the champagne I sipped to wash it away.

Just two weeks ago, I’d overheard Cora on the phone with Damien, excitedly discussing the handmade bracelet they were crafting for Vivienne’s birthday. She’d spent hours selecting beads, practicing the pattern, insisting on perfection for “Auntie Vivi.”

Later, after tucking Cora into bed in the guest room, I joined my parents for a glass of

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122 The Unspoken Judgment

wine in the kitchen.

I nodded, knowing better than to check the suitability of whatever outfit had been chosen. Any suggestion that I might want to review it would only create tension.

“Don’t apologize for him,” she replied firmly. “Never that.”

I bit back a wry comment. “That’s sweet of him.”

“Elara,” he acknowledged, finally looking at me. His eyes swept over me briefly. “Cora will be down in a moment.”

“Fine,” I answered automatically. “Work is busy. YodaVision is growing faster than expected.”

Without further pleasantries, the call ended. I stared at my phone screen, noting the call duration: one minute and seventeen seconds. Our conversations had become efficient, if nothing else.

“Yes, her favorite–lemon with raspberry filling,” I replied, parking the car. “Are you excited to see her?”

“Thank you,

Mr. Finch.” I stepped into the foyer, instantly noticing small changes since my last visit: New artwork adorned the walls. The fragrance in the air was different- jasmine and sandalwood instead of the lily scent I had preferred.

“Ready to go, sweetheart?” I asked Cora, taking the bag from Maria.

“Is she packed for the weekend?” I asked.

“Thank you,” I said, the politeness automatic after years of practice.

“Thank you, Mr. Finch,” I said softly. “But even if invited, we wouldn’t be able to stay. We have plans this evening.”

I hadn’t expected anything different, yet disappointment still pricked at me. Not for

in life–but for

my

my grandmother, myself–I’d long stopped hoping for his presence who still held a fondness for him despite everything.

She hadn’t.

Heavy footsteps on the marble staircase announced Damien’s arrival before I saw him. He descended with his characteristic confidence, phone in hand, barely glancing up as

122 The Unspoken Judgment

he reached the bottom step.

If Mr. Finch was surprised by Damien’s curt response, he didn’t show it. “Very good, sir. I’ll inform the kitchen.”

Before I could politely decline, Damien answered for us. “No. Elara is taking Cora to the Vance residence tonight.”

“I missed you,” I whispered against her head.

And the truth was, I’d known this would happen. I had deliberately chosen not to remind Cora about preparing something for Clara. A small, hurt part of me had wanted to see if my daughter would remember on her own, if she would show the same enthusiasm she demonstrated for Vivienne without prompting.

“Everything’s set,” Clara assured me. “Eleanor called earlier–she’s bringing her famous elderflower punch.”

Inside, my mother greeted us warmly, fussing over Cora immediately. “Look how much you’ve grown since I saw you last month! Are you hungry, darling? I’ve made your favorite chicken pasta.”

Sure enough, we found Dad dozing in his recliner, a documentary about ancient Rome playing softly on the television. He startled awake when Cora bounded over to him.

– For Clara–my grandmother who had been present at every milestone in Cora’s life,

who sent thoughtful gifts for every occasion, who never missed a school performance -there hadn’t even been a card.

“We should get going,” I said, gently guiding Cora toward the door. “Thank you, Mr. Finch, Maria.”

Cora’s face lit up. “With the cheesy bread?”

“I’ll pick her

up

then.”

He bent down to accept her quick hug, his large hand patting her back awkwardly. The gesture was brief but genuine–one of the few times Damien’s emotional walls seemed to crack even slightly.

The evening passed pleasantly, with Cora delighting in being the center of attention. After dinner, she helped Mom frost cookies for tomorrow’s celebration while I called Clara to confirm final arrangements.

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122 The Unspoken Judgment

“There’s my favorite girl!” he exclaimed, pulling her into a bear hug.

“And the divorce proceedings?” Dad asked bluntly.

“How are things?” Mom asked, her question loaded with unspoken concern.

As I watched Cora laughing with relatives, seemingly recovered from her momentary distress, I acknowledged the unspoken judgment I’d passed–not just on my

seven–year–old daughter, but on myself. What kind of mother tests her child this way? What was I hoping to prove?

I heard the patter of small feet upstairs, and seconds later, Cora appeared at the top of the staircase, her dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail. Her eyes lit up when she saw

1. me.

“Mom!” she called out, rushing down the stairs with a small backpack clutched in her hands.

Clara, overhearing, smoothly interjected. “Absolutely! Having you here is all I wanted, darling.”

Cora’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but the shadow of embarrassment remained on her face. As she was pulled away by a second cousin eager to show her the dessert table, I found myself watching her with a strange heaviness in my chest.

– “I’ve arranged for a gift to be delivered,” he added, his tone businesslike. “It should

arrive tomorrow morning.”

“Is Great–Grandma going to have a big cake?” Cora asked as we pulled into my parents‘ driveway.

Vivienne’s touches, no doubt.

Cora nodded enthusiastically, then turned to Damien. “Bye, Dad! See you on Sunday!”

“Uh–huh,” Cora nodded, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Dad said I should give her a big hug from him.”

“No, thank you. We should get going soon.”

“I’m sorry,” I said reflexively!

Damien’s words came through my phone speaker with typical finality. No apology. No

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