Ten Years a Stand-in Wife—Old Money Only Recognizes Me Chapter 07

Ten Years a Stand-in Wife—Old Money Only Recognizes Me Chapter 07

Valerie was already on her feet.

She stared at Ethan, her eyes lighting up for a split second.

Not maternal.

Something else-like she was examining a finished piece of her own work.

“Ethan!”

She smiled, arms opening as she stepped toward him.

“You’ve grown so much! You look like your dad-your nose, just like his-”

Ethan took half a step back.

His backpack strap slipped to his elbow. Instinctively, he moved closer to me, his shoulder pressing

against my arm.

“Mom, who’s that?”

Valerie’s smile faltered.

Her arms stayed open, frozen midair for two seconds.

“Ethan,” she softened her voice, crouching down to meet his eyes, “I’m your mom.”

A very clear expression appeared on Ethan’s face.

Confusion.

Pure, unfiltered confusion.

He turned to look at me.

“Mom?”

I reached out and brushed his hair.

“Ethan, she’s your Aunt Valerie. My sister.”

“Oh.”

Valerie was already on her feet.

She stared at Ethan, her eyes lighting up for a split second.

Not maternal.

Something else-like she was examining a finished piece of her own work.

“Ethan!”

She smiled, arms opening as she stepped toward him.

“You’ve grown so much! You look like your dad-your nose, just like his-”

Ethan took half a step back.

His backpack strap slipped to his elbow. Instinctively, he moved closer to me, his shoulder pressing

against my arm.

“Mom, who’s that?”

Valerie’s smile faltered.

Her arms stayed open, frozen midair for two seconds.

“Ethan,” she softened her voice, crouching down to meet his eyes, “I’m your mom.”

A very clear expression appeared on Ethan’s face.

Confusion.

Pure, unfiltered confusion.

He turned to look at me.

“Mom?”

I reached out and brushed his hair.

“Ethan, she’s your Aunt Valerie. My sister.”

“Oh.”

He nodded, then looked back at her.

Polite.

Distant.

“Hi, Aunt Valerie.”

Then he grabbed my hand and started pulling me toward the dining room.

“Mom, I’m starving. Do we have ribs today?”

Valerie stayed crouched there.

Her hands were still half open.

Then slowly curled into fists.

Her nails dug into her palms.

I didn’t turn back.

But I heard her stand up.

A faint crack in her knee, two sharp taps of her heels against the floor.

“Sloane.”

Her voice had changed.

No more lazy ease.

Cold.

“You taught him that?”

I stopped and turned around.

Valerie stood in the center of the living room, hands in her coat pockets, chin slightly raised. Backlit, her expression unreadable, but her voice cut clean through the air.

“You made him call you Mom and kept him from recognizing me-what exactly are you playing

at?”

“Valerie.”

My expression stayed calm.

“I’ve been the one raising Ethan since the day he was born. The first time he said ‘Mom,’ it was to me. When he had a fever, I stayed up all night holding him. When he got bullied, I went to his school and handled it. The first time he fell off his bike and scraped his knee, he cried in my arms-”

“For the past ten years, I’ve been the one by his side.”

“Not you.”

The air in the room grew heavy.

Valerie’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Ethan’s grip on my hand tightened slightly. With instincts far sharper than most eleven-year-olds,

he sensed something was wrong.

“Mom…” he tugged gently at my fingers.

“It’s okay. Let’s go eat.”

I turned with him and walked into the dining room.

Behind me, Valerie’s voice came again-not loud, but every word was sharp and clear.

“Sloane, don’t forget this.”

“You married in my place.”

“Adrian Shaw is mine. Ethan is my son.”

“You’re nothing but a substitute.”

I pulled out a chair and let Ethan sit down.

Nancy brought over the ribs-braised, glossy, steaming hot.

I picked up my fork and gave him the biggest piece.

“Eat up.”

Ethan bit into it, talking with his mouth full.

“Way better than school lunch.”

“Hmm.”

A substitute.

I’d heard that word for ten years.

Back in the early years after the marriage, I’d think of it every time I looked in the mirror.

Substitute. Stand-in. Fake.

Later, I stopped.

Because when the fake had lasted ten years-longer than the real one ever did-did the real one

still count?