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FREYA’S POV
“Freya…” Mark called out.
I stopped halfway up the stairs, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back. I squeezed my fists until my nails dug into my palms, trying to keep my breathing steady. I took another step, ready to walk away and end this, but then he screamed.
“FREYA!”
The volume of his shout made me jump. I quickly looked up, staring at the thin line of light under Luna’s bedroom door at the top of the landing. If this shit woke her up, I was going to lose it. She shouldn’t have to hear her father sounding like a monster.
I slowly turned to face him. He looked pathetic standing in the middle of the living room, but his ego was as loud as his voice.
“Divorce,” he muttered. He rubbed a hand over his face, pacing like a caged animal. Then his face did that thing-that twitch- where shock curdled into a nasty sneer in a split second. A dry, jagged laugh broke out of him.
“Divorce? Are you serious right now? Over one fight?” He shook his head, looking at me like I was a child failing a math test.” God, Freya. You’re overreacting because I pointed out what my wife needs to fix, and now you’re spiraling. It’s embarrassing.”
Fix It was funny how he kept repeating that word.
He moved faster than I expected. Before I could blink, his hand was a vice around my arm. The grip was tight and cold.
“Sit down. We’re going to talk about this.”
A surge of heat hit my chest. It wasn’t fear-it was pure, unfiltered annoyance. I looked at his hand, then up at his smug face, and I actually smiled before I swung my other hand and slapped his arm away.
“I’m not doing this with you, Mark.”
I turned and scrambled up the rest of the stairs, my lungs burning. I made it into the guest room, slammed the door, and shoved
the lock home.
Click
I sank onto the edge of the bed, my breath coming in shallow, jagged stabs. Tears fell uncontrollably, but they felt weirdly light. I felt like I was floating. I wasn’t crying because I was sad; I was crying because I could finally see the horror of the man I’d been married to. It all made sense now. In the past, I never let a single misunderstanding breathe–I would always be the one to apologize, to beg, to try harder.
But looking at that locked door, it was so obvious. Mark couldn’t even recognize the pain in my eyes. He was just a piece of shit
who genuinely believed he was always right.
Tears kept hitting my lap as I thought about how foolish I’d been for years. I pulled my phone out, hands shaking so hard I almost dropped it. I opened the chat with Steve. My thumb hovered over the letters.
Steve, I’m-
“Wait.” I stopped and stared at the screen. A bubble of laughter forced its way out of my throat. It was so stupid, so pathetic and
funny.
Texting Steve, Really?
I looked at his name at the top of the screen, then looked around the empty guest room. It was darkly hilarious. I’d spent my entire life being “Daddy’s Girl,” a quiet shadow following a powerful man. Then my dad died, and I just stepped out of his shadow and straight into Mark’s. Then came Luna. My whole world was a tiny map where I was always the one being guided, being told who I was and what I lacked.
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The fact that I was even sitting here, thinking of “texting someone” like a normal person with a life, felt like a joke. I leaned my head back against the wall and laughed into the quiet room, the sound bright and hysterical.
I don’t know how I managed to get through the rest of the night, but I woke up to the sound of a bird outside the window. I was still wearing the clothes from yesterday-the black dress twisted around my hips, a wrinkled reminder of the gym, the car, and
the mess I’d walked into.
I stayed still for a second, staring at the ceiling before I reached for my phone. It was 6:00 AM.
I ignored the missed calls from Mark-the ones he’d sent from his other phone, I assumed. Instead, I opened my messages with
Rebecca.
Me: Rebecca, I’m giving you the day off. No need to come in. Take care of yourself. I’ll handle Luna.
The reply came almost immediately; she was always an early riser.
Rebecca: Are you sure, ma’am? Is everything okay?
Me: Positive. Thank you. Enjoy the day.
Next, I looked at the empty text box for Steve. I deleted the draft I’d started last night. He didn’t need to be my lifeline. Not yet. I needed to stand on my own two feet first.
I stood up, my body aching in places that made my face heat up for a split second, and stripped off the black dress. I threw it in the corner of the room like it was trash. I found an old pair of leggings and a plain t-shirt in the dresser, pulled them on, and splashed cold water on my face. My lips were still a little swollen.
I headed downstairs.
The house was quiet, but it felt heavy. I could smell the stale scent of Mark’s whiskey from the living room. He was probably passed out on the couch or slumped in his office.
I walked straight into the kitchen. I didn’t look for him. I had one goal today: Luna. If Lila thought she was going to play happy family and swoop in as the “fun” second mom while Mark tore me down, she was dead wrong. I had been the shadow in this
house for too long.
I started pulling things out of the fridge. Flour, eggs, blueberries. Luna loyed blueberry pancakes. I worked quietly, the rhythmic crack of eggs and the sizzle of butter on the pan acting as my meditation.
I was going to build a wall around my daughter starting today. A wall that neither Mark nor his “college friend” could climb over.
By 7:15 AM, the stack of pancakes was high, and the kitchen smelled like sweetness instead of resentment. I was pouring the orange juice when I heard the floorboards creak upstairs.
“Mommy?” Luna’s sleepy voice called out.
Today was the start of the separation. Not just legally, but emotionally.
D
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