All Chapters of Too Late to Regret, The Substitute Wife Left: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Julia’s POV Andrew sneered at me. “Are you threatening me?” he asked. “Yes, I suppose I am,” I replied, mustering up as much courage as I could to stand up to him. I thrust the papers at him and then stood up. I didn’t want to be here anymore. I’d come to give Oliver his present, and now it was time to go. I brushed past Andrew towards the door. He stood with his back facing me, his fists clenched. Just before I left, I saw Charlotte standing at the bottom of the staircase with Oliver at his side. He had frosting smeared on his chin and a giant model car in his hands. Charlotte’s fingertips gently brushed over his hair like a smug victor. A dull pain radiated through my chest, but I couldn’t let them see that this was hurting me. So without another word, I turned and went out the door, into the rain, cutting off my last trace of attachment completely. When I got home, there was

Julia’s POV He stared at me for a long time. The steam from the hot water gradually dissipated, but the anger on Andrew’s face did not. Suddenly, after a few moments, he turned and strode out of the bathroom. I collapsed onto the cold tile floor, my heavy breathing echoing in the empty room. I couldn’t believe I’d said that. All these years. He knew the truth, and I knew the truth. That he only loved me because I reminded him of Felicity. But it had always been a secret we’d both tip-toed around. Now it was out in the open though. I was a stand-in. And every time Andrew looked at me, all he saw was her. Andrew came back into the bathroom, holding the document in his hand. I knew immediately that it was the divorce papers I’d given him a few days ago. “Repeat what you just said,” he told me. A dull ache pressed on my chest. I could relent. I coul

Oliver’s POV Mom and Dad got divorced. The thought ran through my head, over and over again. I was curled up in my playroom with the door closed. Divorce, divorce, divorce. The word made me dig my nails into my palms until it stung. It was raining outside. I wanted to go and jump in the puddles. No, I didn’t. Because Mom and Dad got divorced and now I didn’t ever want to jump in puddles again. I just wanted to sit here, alone, making my palms sting with my fingernails. Why did she leave me? It was just like the time I had a bad fever. It was raining that night too. Mom left me all alone that night too because she was busy with her job. I hated her stupid job. It made her leave me all the time. She told me she only loved me. But when she got her job, she was kind to all the other kids too. Before her job, she only made plushies for me. But after?

Julia’s POVI stood backstage, aghast at what I’d just seen.I couldn’t believe this!She’d stolen my presentation! All that hard work I’d done. All that time and energy.And now it was my turn to go on stage.The slides were automated, so as I walked onto the stage, my first slide popped up. Of course, it was an exact replica of the slide they’d just seen.MY stolen slide.My palms were sweaty and my heart raced. I could see the academic panel whispering amongst themselves. I opened my mouth to say something, but my mouth was too dry.“This is academic misconduct,” a member of the academic panel spoke up. “It’s plagiarism. The presenter is to leave the stage immediately.”“I agree,” another professor spoke up, his voice dripping with impatience. “Stealing another colleague's work is irreproachable.” I turned to leave, because what else could I do? I was so humiliated. Yes, he had stolen my work, but that’s not what it looked like. It looked like I’d stolen his work, and the

Julia’s POV “Who is this?” Charles asked me, motioning towards Andrew. “Her son’s father,” Andrew replied coldly. His face was completely stoic. I thought he’d at least show a flicker of emotion, but apparently that wasn’t the case. Andrew narrowed his eyes and looked me up and down, like I was some sort of stranger, instead of the woman who had shared a bed with him for the past decade. Suddenly, a memory came flooding back to me. “Please, just wear this dress.” In the memory, Andrew was handing me a long, floral print dress. “She always wore floral prints,” he sighed. ‘She’ meaning his first love. He didn’t need to say it out loud; he preferred when I wore floral prints because that’s when I looked most like his her. The memory faded as Andrew continued to scan me with his eyes. Unlike the way I used to dress, I was now donning tailored black slacks and a crisp, white shirt. My hair was tied loos