My Coldhearted Husband'S Regret novel Chapter 33

33 A Lingering, Telling Scent

33 A Lingering, Telling Scent

Elara’s POV

I watched Coco’s chest rise and fall as she slept, her fever finally breaking in the early hours of the morning. The soft glow of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting shadows across her small face. Her cheeks were no longer flushed with fever, and her breathing had steadied.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway broke the morning stillness. I checked my watch: 7:15 AM. Footsteps soon echoed through the hallway, steady and purposeful. Damien’s footsteps. I would recognize them anywhere, even after all this time.

The bedroom door opened quietly, and he appeared in the doorway. His usually immaculate appearance showed signs of a long night-his shirt slightly wrinkled, his jaw shadowed with stubble.

“How is she?” he asked, voice low as he approached the bed.

“The fever broke around three this morning. She’s been sleeping peacefully since then,” I replied, keeping my tone neutral.

Damien nodded, his eyes fixed on Coco. Without another word, he leaned down and brushed his lips against her forehead, checking her temperature. It was the most tender gesture I’d seen from him in months.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, finally looking at me.

“She’s my daughter,” I replied simply. As if I’d need any other reason.

Coco stirred, her eyes fluttering open. When she saw her father, her face lit up instantly. “Daddy! You came!”

“Of course I came, princess,” Damien said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she replied, reaching for him,

He gathered her into his arms, holding her close. That’s when I caught it-the scent.

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33 A Lingering, Telling Scent

Vivienne’s perfume, mingled with Damien’s cologne. The distinctive jasmine and

sandalwood notes that I’d smelled a hundred times before at charity events and family gatherings, now clinging to my husband’s clothes after a night spent away from home.

My stomach twisted into a cold, hard knot. So that’s where he’d been all night. With Vivienne, while our daughter burned with fever and called for him. I’d suspected, of course, but the confirmation still stung like alcohol on an open wound.

I rose from the chair, legs stiff after hours of sitting vigil. “I’ll make some breakfast. Coco needs to eat something light.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Damien said, setting Coco back against her pillows. “You’ve been up all night.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted, needing to escape the room, to escape that scent. “Chicken noodle soup would be good for her. It’s what my grandmother always made when I was sick.”

Without waiting for his response, I walked past him, careful not to brush against his jacket. Once, I would have cherished any contact, any proximity. Now, I couldn’t bear

In the hallway, I paused, taking a deep breath. This was my new reality. The divorce papers were already filed. Soon, we would be nothing more than co-parents to Coco. I needed to accept that.

Downstairs, Mrs. Gable was already in the kitchen, preparing coffee. “Good morning, Mrs. Thorne. How’s the little one?”

“Much better,” I replied, washing my hands at the sink. “I’m going to make some soup for her.”

“I can do that,” she offered, but I shook my head.

“I need to keep busy.”

I began gathering ingredients-chicken, carrots, celery, onions. The methodical process of chopping vegetables was oddly comforting. Each precise cut helped ground me, focus me.

Damien’s jacket lay draped over one of the kitchen chairs where he must have tossed it

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33 A Lingering, Telling Scent

upon entering. Once, I would have picked it up, hung it properly, perhaps even held it close for a moment to catch his scent. Now, I simply moved it aside to make room for my cutting board, letting it fall carelessly back onto the chair.

The knife stilled in my hand as voices drifted down from upstairs-Damien’s low murmur in what sounded like a phone call. I couldn’t make out the words, but his tone was reassuring, gentle. A tone he rarely used with me anymore.

“I’d be happy to take over if you’d like to rest,” Mrs. Gable said, watching me with

concern.

“I’m almost done,” I replied, resuming my chopping with renewed vigor. “This won’t take long”

An hour later, the soup was simmering on the stove, filling the kitchen with a

comforting aroma. I ladled a small portion into a bowl and added a few crackers on the side for Coco.

As I climbed the stairs, I heard Damien’s voice more clearly. He was still on the phone, standing by the window in Coco’s room.

“She’s much better now,” he was saying. “The fever’s gone completely… Yes, I’ll let you

know… I know you were worried too.”

I didn’t need to hear the other side of the conversation to know who it was. Vivienne. Always Vivienne.

I cleared my throat as I entered, and he turned, ending the call quickly. “Soup’s ready,” I announced, setting the tray on Coco’s bedside table.

“Yay! Mommy’s special soup!” Coco exclaimed, sitting up eagerly.

I helped her with the first few spoonfuls, making sure it wasn’t too hot. “Careful, sweetie. Take small bites.”

“I’ve got her,” Damien said, taking the spoon from my hand. His fingers brushed against mine, and I pulled back as if burned. “You should get some rest.”

“I’d like to check her temperature one more time,” I replied.

I placed my hand on Coco’s forehead, It was cool to the touch. Relief washed over me,

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