Chapter 5: Outburst

Julia’s POV

“Slow down,” Andrew said calmly, slurring his words slightly. “I know what you’re thinking. But nothing happened.

“What are you doing here then?” I snapped at him.

“I’d gone to the company dinner and had drunk quite a bit, so I needed to take a break here. She’d just come by to drop off the contract I’d forgotten.”

“Where’s your shirt?” I demanded.

“I spilled wine on it. Charlotte was rinsing it off in the sink,” he said calmly.

“Why is she in her nightgown?” I asked.

For someone who had just been caught cheating, Andrew seemed rather calm. Was he telling the truth? Had he really just had one too many drinks and then come up here with Charlotte to her room? Was he bare-chested because his shirt had wine on it?”

“I slipped into the bathroom and got changed,” Charlotte sighed. “I just wanted to wear something comfortable.”

I narrowed my eyes. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this all sounded a bit too suspicious.

“Go ahead. Check the sink. My shirt’s there. It’s probably still stained,” Andrew told me.

I went over to the sink and sure enough, there was a large, somewhat faded wine stain right on the front.

But what about what Charlotte had said? That it had ‘already happened’? That I was ‘too late?’

I spun around and glared at Charlotte. But she merely shrugged.

“Jeez, I was just joking,” she scoffed. “I didn’t expect you to fly off the handle like that?”

“Come on,” Andrew said. “Take me home. I need to lie down.”

But I shook my head. I felt suffocated. I didn’t want to be around him right now.

“No,” I refused. “Find your own way home.”

“Suit yourself,” he drunkenly shrugged at me. Then he fumbled for his phone and called his driver.

I felt ridiculous, leaving the hotel separately. But I felt even more ridiculous when we slept in separate rooms that night. I mean, we were married, after all. I just couldn’t bring myself to sleep next to Andrew.

After all this happened, he said nothing to me.

I was still angry that he’d left the banquet with Charlotte and taken her to the hospital while I went home alone and took care of my own wounds - both physical and emotional.

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of laughter.

Charlotte was already in the house. I grabbed my robe and went down to the kitchen. Charlotte was sitting at the table with Oliver, helping him put together a new model car that she must have brought him as a gift.

The sight of them together reminded me of the hurtful words Oliver had said to me the day before.

“There’s coffee,” Charlotte said in a sing-song voice. “I just put on a fresh pot.”

I nodded, but then I noticed that Charlotte was holding a pair of craft scissors…precariously close to Oliver’s ear.

She waved the scissors near his ear, gesturing playfully but with an undercurrent of provocation. She was threatening me, but without words.

Something inside of me snapped. My mamma bear instincts kicked in. I panicked.

That was my child, and she was going to hurt him! Without thinking, I lunged at her, shoving her clear off her chair.

“Get out of my house,” I seethed at her.

“What are you doing?” Oliver asked, aghast. Clearly, he thought I’d lost my mind. “You could have hurt her,” Oliver said, his tone scolding.

He immediately started helping Charlotte up off the ground.

Just then, Andrew appeared.

“What’s going on in here,” he said. “I heard someone yelling.”         

I watched as his eyes flitted from Charlotte on the floor to me, standing over her.

“Mom shoved Charlotte off her chair,” Oliver told him.

“Julia? Is that true?” Andrew demanded.

My heart turned cold. They were both defending her. They were both rejecting me – my husband and my son.

Charlotte smiled smugly as they helped her, pushing me out of the way.

I couldn’t take this anymore. Andrew didn’t love me, and I was tired of being invisible.

“I meant what I said last night,” I told him, locking my eyes with his. “I want a divorce.”             

Andrew frowned, and then opened his mouth to respond. But before he could, I felt something slam into my head, then crash onto the floor. 

“You’re a horrible mother,” Oliver hollered at me, his face contorted in anger.

I looked down.

There was a broken coffee cup at my feet.

Oliver had thrown a coffee cup in his fit of rage and accidentally hit me in the head.

I stood frozen in shock.

What had happened to my dear, sweet little boy? The little boy who couldn’t fall asleep at night unless I read him two books and sang him a lullaby.

He hated me. I could see it on his face. He was furious with me.

How had this happened? I didn’t even recognize Oliver anymore.

I had to go. I couldn’t bear another second in this house.

Without another word, I rushed out the door.

I jumped into my car, and without realizing it, I drove to a theme park.

When Oliver was five, I’d returned to work for a year. Ever since then, he’d grown distant. He withdrew from me, clinging instead to his ‘special Aunty Charlotte’.

Oliver used to be so kind, so sweet, so gentle. He’d never been good at expressing himself, but he’d never had outbursts like the one I’d just seen in the kitchen either.

He’d always been a little too influenced by others though. Is that what happened? During my year at work, had Charlotte weasled her way into both Oliver’s heart AND head?

Had she planted those twisted ideas in mind? Persuaded him that I was an awful mother? Let him believe it was okay to treat me like that?

I could get him back though, my sweet little Oliver. If I divorced Andrew, Oliver would come with me. I could get him away from Charlotte, and then he’d return to the bright, loving, sweet child I’d raised.

The child he used to be.

The little boy who loved me.

I took a deep, steadying breath, and once I’d calmed myself down, I went back to the house.

I knew what I had to do.

I had to follow through on the divorce. For both me AND Oliver.

As I walked through the front door, I overheard Charlotte subtly probing Andrew about the divorce.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” I heard her whisper.

I didn’t hear what Andrew said, because my attention was fixed on Oliver. His gaze was cold, and I knew he had heard about my intention to divorce Andrew.

Before I could say something, Oliver said clearly and slowly:

“If you divorce, I want to live with Dad and Charlotte.”