Chapter 4: Divorce

Julia’s POV

My heart clenched. I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard.

He didn’t want me to be his mother? That stung.

I did so much for him, but it felt like everything I did was just dismissed so easily, as if it meant nothing.

As if I meant nothing.

"How can you--"I felt my heart was cut into pieces.

But Oliver ran back to his room and shut the door tightly.

I slumped onto the sofa, feeling as if all my strength had drained away. I had endured Andrew’s indifference, Charlotte’s provocations, and Cecile’s insults. But now? Even my own son treated me this way. 

I couldn’t hold back my tears.

My thoughts drifted back to Andrew and how we’d first met. I knew, even at the time, that Andrew hadn’t been choosing me out of love. He’d chosen me simply because I was a ‘suitable’ option.

Originally, my father had planned for Charlotte to marry Andrew. He thought they were a perfect match. But Andrew had chosen me instead. I didn’t know why he’d chosen me at the time. It wasn’t until much later that I realized…

Andrew had chosen me because I looked more like his Felicity than Charlotte did.

Felicity, Andrew’s first love.

Turns out, I bore a striking resemblance to Felicity, right down to my emerald green eye color and dimple on my left cheek. Felicity was deceased, and I guess my face and its resemblance to Felicity’s allowed Andrew to hold onto a piece of her, even after she was gone.

Ever since we said our marriage vows though, Andrew had been cold to me most of the time. He took care of me when I was sick though. And in public, he always acknowledged me as his wife without hesitation. He was always quick to defend me, to stand up for me, to compliment me in front of others.

He could be so kind, so caring, so charismatic. So I clung onto the illusion that maybe, just maybe, he would fall in love with me one day.

Like actually, REALLY fall in love with, not just pretend to be.

I struggled with that for a long time, craving Andrew’s love and aching for his real affection. But then Oliver came into the picture. And from the first moment I looked at his scrunchy little newborn face, I fell head over heels in love with him.

Most of my energy from that point on had gone into raising Oliver. I doted on him. I built my world around him. I became so used to Andrew’s indifference, that I barely noticed it anymore.

And I stopped hoping for his affection.

But now?

Even my own son, my flesh and blood, the light of love, didn’t want me anymore.

So what had this marriage been for? What had I gained from this marriage? What had my marriage given me after all these years?

I didn’t have an answer because at the moment, it honestly felt like a big, fat nothing.

Just then, my phone pinged, alerting me to a message that had just popped up on social media. It was from Charlotte, and it was a picture..

…a picture of Andrew.

I gazed at the picture and my heart stopped.

He was lying on what appeared to be a hotel bed, disheveled. The message included the hotel address.

I leapt to my feet, stunned, and immediately drove to the hotel.

I gripped the steering wheel as I drove through the streets. What was happening? Had Charlotte been released from the hospital? She must have been. But why had Andrew gone with her back to her hotel? Why hadn’t he come straight home.

A knot twisted in my stomach as I drove into the hotel parkade.

I went up the elevator, double checking the message.

Room 608.

Outside the door, I paused, fearing the worst. Then I inhaled a sharp breath and knocked on the door.

If Andrew was inside, if he was in that hotel room with Charlotte, I had to know.

Moments later, the door opened. Charlotte stood there, dressed in a loose, cream-colored silk nightgown. Her lipstick was smeared past the edges of her lips, as though she’d just been passionately kissing someone.

Kissing someone.

Kissing Andrew?

Before I could fully process what was happening, Charlotte leaned in, a smug smile on her face, and whispered:

“You’re too late. It’s already happened.”  

Fury ripped through me. I pushed past her and swung open the door. My eyes widened as I saw Andrew, naked from the waist up, stumbling towards the bathroom. Even from where I stood, I could tell that he was VERY drunk.

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. My mind spun. I’d braced myself for the worst, and now here it was, staring me right in the face.

  Charlotte and Andrew, alone, in a hotel room together. Andrew half-naked and drunk. Charlotte wearing a slinky nightgown.

Oh. My God.

“Andrew,” I exclaimed, unable to hide the shock in my voice. He spun around to face me, steadying himself on the dresser. Heartbroken and furious, I looked him dead in the eyes and said:

“Divorce! I want a divorce!”