Too Late To Regret, Ex Husband

Judy’s POV

“And… that’s a wrap for today!”

“Great work, everyone. You can all head home.”

The crew began packing their equipment, the metallic clatter of light stands echoing through the studio. I was gathering my things, my mind already miles away, when Director Marshall approached.

“Not you, Judy.” I froze, a script clutched to my chest. “I need to talk to you.”

He pressed his hands on his waist, his gaze sharp, then exhaled slowly. “You acted it very well. I love it. But… something is missing. The voice.”

“Okay?” I asked, unsure.

“By tomorrow, I need you to speak more firmly in your scenes. Make the audience believe you’re the villain. We’re misleading them, remember?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.” Marshall stepped away.

I exhaled, already planning in my head how I would adjust my performance. Acting had been part of my life since the day I got married, and Marshall was the kind of director who pushed everyone to be their best, ensuring our movie would be the talk of the town when it was released.

Stepping outside the studio, I glanced at the sunset, then at the park where I had left my car. Tonight was Lucas’, my husband's birthday. Our marriage wasn’t perfect; far from it, but I still wanted to give him something meaningful.

Five years ago, we got married, and since then, our relationship has been strained. He constantly gave me attitude because he believed I was the reason Claire, my sister, left. Yet I held onto hope that he might change.

I drove downtown to the mall, my mind already on the gift I planned. In the display case, a silver wristwatch caught my eye. It was beautiful—and expensive.

“Ma’am, right this way. Thank you for your business.” The sales clerk handed me the watch. It was neatly wrapped and placed in a box with several layers of padding. I don’t like excessive packaging, but sometimes these little touches really help me show just how deeply I love Lucas. It had cost me nearly every cent of my savings from the set, but for him, it was worth it.

I checked the dashboard clock as I pulled out of the mall.

It was 6 p.m. Plenty of time for me to prepare dinner. But I stepped on the gas anyway, eager to get home quickly. A few minutes later, I pulled into the driveway.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lucas’ sleek SUV parked on one side, with an unfamiliar sedan next to it. My heart raced. Today was Lucas’ birthday, and he was home early. I barely had time to make dinner.

I parked and approached the door. It was unlocked. I felt a surge of excitement; he was home, and the door was open as if he were waiting for me.

“Lucas?” I called softly. No answer.

Then I heard it—a laugh, faint and familiar—and the murmur of voices from upstairs. My stomach twisted with sudden, confusing nerves. When Lucas was home, the house was usually quiet. He’d nag that he wanted sleep, and I should not even breathe if it would disturb him. But this sounded different.

I climbed the stairs slowly, each step weighted with a growing curiosity. At the end of the passage, our bedroom door stood slightly ajar, deliberately slanted, as if inviting me to see what lay inside.

Through the opening, I saw them. Lucas, on our matrimonial bed, with a woman whose face was hidden by his shoulders. Both were still dressed in part, yet disturbingly intimate. My heart dropped as the truth hit me; their closeness left nothing to the imagination.

I opened the door fully, my body trembling.

“Lucas?” I called, voice shaking.

He turned toward me, a smile playing on his lips, but he didn’t stop. He kissed the woman under him down to her cleavage. The woman laughed out loud one more time before she moved beside him slightly. Lifting her head from his shoulder, my heart pounded.

“Claire?!” I gasped.

“Judy. Been a long while. Miss me?” she smirked as they untangled themselves with a smug slowness.

Twenty years ago, when we were just children, Lucas was playing by the river with us. He mistakenly fell into the river and was sinking fast. I was the one who jumped in. I was the one who pulled him out. But because I collapsed from hitting my head, everyone saw Claire nearby and assumed she was the hero. Ever since then, Lucas loved her.

Then came the accident. Claire drove even though she wasn't old enough. She ran into a ditch and was paralyzed—everyone claimed I was the one who convinced her to do it. Everyone judged me. Four months later, Claire disappeared. Years later, Lucas forced marriage on me to punish me for what they told him I did to her.

Yet, here she was today. Not only in my bed with my husband. She was on her feet. The same feet Lucas had made me pay for, while I was trying my best to make him love me.

“Here, take!” Lucas walked to me and stretched out an envelope. “You are no longer needed. The love of my life is here now.”

He walked back to Claire and kissed her. I opened the envelope, my hands shaky.

“Divorce Letter,” I read boldly.

“What are you waiting for?” Lucas cut in coldly. His voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

“You should’ve known your fate the day you did wrong.”

Pain shot through my chest.

“I didn’t…”

“You’ve lived the life that should’ve been ours for five years. What else do you want from me?” Claire frowned at me, her eyes glistening with tears.

In that moment, I was back to the days when I was blamed for not taking good enough care of my sister. I swallowed hard. The explanation on my lips suddenly felt weak and useless. After that incident, my mother refused to see me and shut me out from every chance to tell her the truth.

For a second, I dared not speak. I stared down at the package in my hands. Today was Lucas’ birthday, a day that I thought I could explain to him everything.