Chapter 48 48
FREYA POV
It took nearly an hour to get Luna to settle down. She was buzzing with a kind of restless energy that only a child can carry after a day of pure, uncomplicated fun. She insisted on giving me every single detail of her afternoon at the park—the exact height she reached on the swings, the color of the butterfly that landed near her shoes, and the taste of the strawberry ice cream Diana had bought for her. I sat on the edge of her bed, nodding and smiling, forcing myself to be present in her world of bright colors and simple joys while my own mind was stuck somewhere else.
In the middle of her excitement, she paused and looked at me with wide, innocent eyes.
"Daddy once said I can't climb the big rope ladder alone, but I did today, Mommy," she said, her voice filled with a simple, quiet pride. "I got all the way to the top."
The mention of Mark hit me like a cold draft. She said it so purely, unaware of the chaos her father was currently causing.
I forced a smile, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, though my heart felt like it was being squeezed. I didn't want to tarnish her moment with the truth of the man he really was.
"You're very brave, Luna," I whispered. "Now, it's time for brave girls to sleep."
Finally, her eyes grew heavy, and her voice trailed off into a sleepy mumble. I stayed still until her breathing smoothed out into the deep pace of sleep. The moment I stepped away from the bed and closed the door, everything I’m pretending not to think about rushed back in to meet me.
I looked at the clock. Steve still wasn't back.
I made my way down to the living room. I knew sitting on the sofa wouldn't bring him home any faster, but I couldn't stay upstairs. I needed to be near the entrance, at least to see him the second he walked through that door, because I knew his face would tell me little of everything. Steve had a way of wearing his emotions like a suit of armor, but I had learned how to read the cracks in the metal. I would know immediately if the situation with Mark had turned into the nightmare I feared.
I didn't turn on the main lights. I sat in the dim glow of the hallway lamp, my fingers twisted together in my lap. Every distant sound of a car passing made me sit up straighter, my ears straining for the specific roar of his engine.
I leaned my head back against the cushions and closed my eyes. Steve had told me to trust him, so I looked at the clock again.
"You were with him all night yesterday; I can't believe you're missing him so fast."
Diana’s voice came from behind me, startling me out of my thoughts. I looked back to see her standing there, holding a large bowl of popcorn. She raised it a bit toward me with a wry smile.
"Beating down the nicotine urge," she muttered before coming to sit beside me on the sofa.
"Thanks for today, Diana. Luna really enjoyed herself," I said, leaning back into the cushions.
Diana only smiled and set the popcorn down on the coffee table. She moved closer to me, her expression softening into something uncharacteristically serious.
"You did well, Freya," she said softly.
She reminded me of the Steve she knew before I came along. She told me how, after his mother passed, Steve had stayed indoors for weeks. Even after the official three days of mourning, he had remained a ghost in his own home, silent and unreachable. To see him out now, only two days after everything shifted, wasn't just different—it was a miracle. He wasn't hiding from the world this time; he was out there facing it head-on because he had something worth fighting for.
"He's not rotting inside himself anymore," Diana whispered. "And that's because of you."
She pulled me into a sudden, tight hug. I rested my head on her shoulder, feeling a brief moment of peace. But the peace didn't last long.
The front door opened, and Steve walked in. He looked tired, his clothes slightly disheveled, but the intensity in his eyes hadn't faded.
"Hey, bro," Diana said, breaking the silence.
Steve didn't offer a verbal reply; he just greeted her with a brief, heavy look, his eyes lingering on her for only a second before shifting toward the stairs. He looked like he wanted to walk away immediately.
“Steve,” I called out suddenly, my voice sharper than I intended.
He stopped mid-stride. For a long second he didn’t turn around, his broad shoulders rigid with tension. Diana caught the shift in the air immediately. She stood up, grabbing her popcorn bowl.
“I’ll leave you two to it,” she murmured, offering a quick, supportive squeeze to my shoulder before slipping toward the kitchen with her snack.
As soon as she was gone, I rose from the cushion, my eyes searching his face desperately for any clue—any sign—of what had happened out there.
“Did you handle it well?” I asked softly,
Steve finally turned to face me fully, but the look on his eyes wasn’t the quiet relief or tired satisfaction I had hoped for. Instead, his gaze darkened, He took one deliberate step toward me, his presence suddenly filling the entire quiet room with a sharp, possessive heat that made my pulse jump.
“Are you worried about him?” he asked, voice low and edged.
The question lodged in my throat “Him? Mark?”
And the way he asked it—sent a cold spine of ice racing down my vein.
"Why is his name the first thing on your tongue the second I walk through the door?" he hissed. "Tell me, Freya. Are you asking if I handled it, or are you asking if I broke your precious ex-husband?"