Darling Husband's Regret

Camille Lockhart wondered, not for the first time, what a truly married couple looked like. Did the wife wake up to warm arms and softer kisses? Did the husband look at her like she was the only woman breathing on earth? Or was marriage simply this — two strangers sharing the same expensive cage, breathing the same air but never truly knowing what love really is?

The sound of the walk-in closet door opening pulled her from her thoughts.

Her husband, Roderick King stepped out, fully dressed in a tailored black suit that hugged his broad shoulders and narrow waist like it had been sewn onto his body.

 His dark hair was perfectly styled, and his sharp jawline caught the light as he adjusted his cufflinks. He looked like a Greek god who had decided to walk among mortals — devastatingly handsome, coldly distant, and completely untouchable.

Camille’s heart gave its usual traitorous flutter before reality settled back in like a stone in her chest.

“I’ll be home late,” He said, voice deep and low, eyes fixed on his reflection in the mirror rather than on her.

 “Don’t forget about tonight. You’ll be home, right?”She swallowed.

He was silent for a long moment, long enough for the hope in her chest to twist into something painful. Finally, he answered without turning around.

“Probably.”

“Probably?” Her voice cracked despite herself. “Roderick, you’re not planning on missing it again? It’s our special night.”

He exhaled sharply, the sound laced with irritation. “It’s too early to disturb me with your endless nagging, Camille. I already gave you my reply. What more do you want?”

The words landed like tiny cuts across her skin. She bit her lip hard enough to taste the faint metallic tang of blood.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Without another word, Roderick picked up his briefcase and walked out of the bedroom, not sparing her a single glance. The heavy door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed felt louder than any argument.

Camille remained standing in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around herself as if trying to hold her breaking pieces together. Three years. Three years of this.

She had once believed marriage would be different — that love, even if it started small, would grow. But Roderick had never loved her. He possessed her, he controlled her, he displayed her like a rare painting on his wall: beautiful, expensive, and meant to be admired only by him.

Being in this loveless marriage had reshaped everything she once believed about soulmates. Was there a rulebook somewhere that said a husband should treat his wife like a tool instead of a partner?

 Did the vows include the right to keep her locked away while he lived freely? Did “till death do us part” mean she had to slowly die inside while smiling for the world?

On the surface, people envied her as Roderick King’s wife. The young beauty who never had to lift a finger. No job or harsh responsibilities outside these walls. A villa that looked like it belonged in a dream. Designer clothes, jewelry that could buy small countries....but the truth was far uglier.

This marriage was a golden cage.

Roderick didn’t let her work. He had made that clear from the beginning. “My wife doesn’t need to embarrass me by playing career woman.” 

Her bank accounts were in his name. Every expense, every purchase, every withdrawal required his approval. She couldn’t even leave the villa without his permission unless it was for something that directly benefited him — charity events where she played the perfect, silent wife, or business dinners where she was expected to smile and look ornamental.

He was obsessed with the idea of her. Obsessed with how gorgeous she looked on his arm. Obsessed with keeping her untouched by the outside world. The few times she had dared suggest going out with old friends, his response had been ice-cold and final.

Camille turned toward the full-length mirror and stared at her reflection. Even now, after three years of emotional starvation, she was still beautiful — smooth pale skin that glowed under the light, full lips, and curves that made the most expensive dresses look sinful. 

But what was the use of beauty when the man who owned it treated her like a furniture?

Tonight was their third anniversary.

She spent the rest of the day in quiet preparation, refusing to let the morning’s humiliation ruin the night completely. 

By seven-thirty, she chose a deep emerald green gown that clung to her body and made her eyes look brighter. She pinned her hair up elegantly, applied soft makeup, and sprayed the perfume he once said he liked — even though she no longer wore it for him.

 She wore it for the version of herself that still hoped for his love.

She checked her phone again. The last message she had sent him was a gentle reminder about dinner — showed two blue ticks. Viewed but no reply.

Her chest tightened.

She left the master bedroom and descended the grand staircase, the sound of her heels echoing through the vast, empty villa. The maids had set up an intimate candlelit dinner on the glass-enclosed terrace overlooking the private garden. 

 Her favorite roses filled the center of the table. 

“Ma’am,” One of the maids greeted her with a polite smile. “Everything is ready.”

“Thank you,” Camille said softly, managing a small smile she didn’t feel.

She sat down.

The candles burned lower. The food grew cold under silver covers. Minutes stretched into an hour. Then two.

 Humiliation burned in her throat. She kept her spine straight, refusing to let the staff see her cry, but inside, something was quietly shattering.

How many times had she sat like this? Waiting for a man who never acknowledged her? How long would she remain a beautiful accessory he could ignore until he needed her to warm his bed?

Tonight, something felt different.

The ache in her chest wasn’t just sadness anymore. It was anger, it was exhaustion. It was the slow, terrifying realization that she could not and would not survive another year like this.

Camille stared at the untouched plates, at the flickering candles, at the empty chair across from her.

Did Roderick seriously forget that he should be here tonight? She thought.