7. Freya
— ? —
Freya
I packed a single bag while Rex was at work.
The closet was full of clothes I hadn’t bought.
Designer dresses for charity galas. Silk blouses for family dinners.
And cashmere sweaters soft enough to make me forget I’d never owned anything like them before I married into this family.
Louisa had taken me shopping the week after the wedding, filling bag after bag with things she insisted I needed to look the part of a Waller wife.
I left all of it.
I took the jeans I’d brought from my father’s house. The boots my mother had given me for my eighteenth birthday, worn soft and comfortable. Three t-shirts, a cardigan, underwear, my toothbrush. Everything I’d owned before Rex Waller became my husband fit into one canvas duffel bag.
That felt about right.
The note was harder.
I sat at the little desk by the window and stared at the blank paper for fifteen minutes before I started writing.
The first attempt was too long, full of explanations and accusations and all the hurt I’d been swallowing for months.
I crumpled it and tried again. The second version was too angry. The third was too sad.
Every draft kept circling back to the words I’d heard through that open window at his aunt’s house. Some days? Yeah. Maybe I do.
Finally, I just wrote the truth.
I want a divorce. I don’t want anything from this. Just leave me alone. Everyone wins.
I set the note on his pillow, right in the center where he couldn’t miss it. Then I slid my wedding ring off my finger and placed it on top of the paper. The diamond caught the morning light, throwing tiny rainbows across the white sheets.
I’d worn that ring for exactly one year and nine days. It had never quite fit right. Too loose on my finger, always spinning around so the stone faced my palm instead of outward. Rex had offered to have it resized three times. I’d always said I’d get around to it.
Now I never would.
Before I could lose my nerve, I pulled out my phone and blocked him. His cell, his office line, the house phone. Every way he could reach me, gone with a few taps.
I picked up my bag and walked out of the bedroom without looking back. Down the hallway, past the balcony doors where Rex had made me promises he couldn’t keep, down the stairs I’d climbed a thousand times thinking this was my home.
It had never been my home. It was his house, his ranch, his life. I was just a guest who’d overstayed her welcome.
I made it to the front door before the nausea hit.
It came out of nowhere, a wave of dizziness so intense I had to grab the doorframe to keep from falling. My stomach lurched. Cold sweat broke out across my forehead. For a horrible moment, I thought I was going to be sick right there in the marble entryway.
I pressed my hand against my mouth and breathed through it. In through the nose, out through the mouth, the way my mother taught me when I was little and got carsick on long drives. Slowly, the room stopped spinning. The nausea faded to a dull queasiness that settled in my gut like a warning.
Stress, I told myself. It’s just stress. You’re leaving your husband. Of course you feel sick.
But even as I thought it, my mind was counting backward. When was my last period? Two weeks ago? Three?
No. Longer than that.
I pulled out my phone and opened the calendar app, scrolling back through the days. The little red dot that marked my cycle should have appeared two weeks ago. It hadn’t. I’d been so caught up in Annie and Louisa and the slow-motion collapse of my marriage that I hadn’t even noticed.
Two weeks late. Maybe more.
It doesn’t mean anything, I told myself firmly. Stress can mess with your cycle. You’ve been under a lot of stress.
But my hands were shaking as I stuffed the phone back in my pocket.
I couldn’t think about this right now. I couldn’t stand in Rex’s foyer having a panic attack about maybe possibly being pregnant with his baby while I was in the middle of leaving him. One crisis at a time. That was the rule. Deal with the thing in front of you, then deal with the next thing.
The thing in front of me was getting out of this house.
I squared my shoulders, picked up my bag, and walked out the door.
My car was parked in the circular driveway, the sensible car I’d driven before Rex tried to upgrade me to a Mercedes.
I’d refused the Mercedes. It felt too much like being bought.
The car wasn’t fancy, but it was mine, paid for with money I’d earned working summers at the county fair, back when my father was too busy at the card tables to notice what I did.
I threw my bag in the back seat and pulled out my phone again. This time, I called Clara.
She answered on the second ring. “Hey, stranger. I was just thinking about you. Want to grab lunch this week?”
“I left him.”
Silence. Then, “You what?”
“I left Rex. I’m in the driveway right now.” My voice cracked, and I had to stop and breathe before I could continue. “Clara, I think I need to buy a pregnancy test.”
“Holy shit.” More silence while she processed. “Okay. Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to drive to my apartment. Do you remember how to get here? Take the highway toward the city, exit on Maple, left at the light. I’ll meet you there. We’ll figure this out together.”
“Clara…”
“Don’t argue with me. Just drive. I’m leaving work right now.”
She hung up before I could thank her.
I sat in my car for another minute, staring at the house that had never quite been mine.
Through the front windows, I could see the living room where Rex and I had spent quiet evenings reading.
The kitchen where I’d made him grilled cheese sandwiches he’d eaten cold just because I’d made them.
The life I’d tried so hard to build out of an impossible situation.
It hadn’t been enough. I hadn’t been enough.
I started the car and drove away without looking in the rearview mirror.