13. Freya
— ? —
Freya
For five days straight, Rex had sat in the parents’ section, watching me teach, and not said a word.
No grand gestures or expensive gifts delivered by men in uniforms. Just Rex Waller, billionaire rancher, folded into one of the plastic chairs meant for moms and overworked dads, watching me lead eight-year-olds around an arena on ponies.
It was deeply unsettling.
The first day, I’d been sure he was working up to something.
Some new scheme, some elaborate plan to win me back through sheer force of wealth and persistence.
I’d kept glancing at the observation area between instructions, waiting for him to pull out a checkbook or summon a mariachi band or do something ridiculous and over-the-top.
He’d just sat there, watching. Taking notes in a small leather notebook like he was studying for an exam.
By day three, the other parents had noticed him.
Of course they had. Rex wasn’t the kind of man who blended into a crowd.
He was too tall, too handsome, too obviously wealthy despite the fact that he’d traded his usual suits for jeans and a simple button-down.
The moms whispered to each other, shooting glances his way.
A few of the braver ones had tried to strike up conversations.
He’d been polite but distant. Charming in that automatic way he had, the one that made everyone feel special without actually letting anyone in. But his attention never strayed far from the arena. From me.
“Your ex is here again,” Dana said on day four, stating the obvious as she helped me set up for the afternoon lesson.
“I noticed.”
“He’s kind of intense, isn’t he? Just sitting there, watching you work. It’s either incredibly romantic or deeply creepy. I can’t decide which.”
“Creepy. Definitely creepy.”
“I don’t know.” Dana glanced toward the observation area, where Rex was settling into his usual seat. “He looks sad. Like a kicked puppy. A very hot, very rich kicked puppy.”
“Puppies don’t buy you cars you didn’t ask for.”
“Fair point.”
Now it was day five, and I was running out of ways to pretend he wasn’t there. The kids had started to notice too. Little Mia, who was seven and entirely too observant for her own good, had asked me yesterday if the “sad man” was my boyfriend.
“He’s just someone I used to know,” I’d told her.
“He looks at you like my daddy looks at my mommy,” she’d said. “Like you’re his favorite person in the whole world.”
I’d changed the subject to proper heel position and tried not to think about the way my heart had clenched at her words.
The lesson ended at four-thirty, and I spent an extra twenty minutes helping the kids untack their ponies and put away their equipment. I knew I was stalling. But every day this week, Rex had left quietly when the lesson ended, disappearing before I had to acknowledge his presence.
Maybe today would be the same.
It wasn’t.
When I finally walked out of the arena, he was waiting by the gate. Still no gifts. Just Rex, looking thinner than he had two weeks ago, with dark circles under his eyes that suggested he wasn’t sleeping any better than I was.
Good. He deserved some sleepless nights.
“Freya.” His voice was rough, like he hadn’t used it much lately. “Can I talk to you? Just for a minute.”
“I have to close up.”
“I can wait.”
“You’ve been waiting all week.”
“I can wait longer.”
I studied his face, looking for the angle. There was always an angle with Rex. But right now, he just looked exhausted. Worn down to something raw and real beneath the polished exterior.
“Five minutes,” I said finally. “Then I have to go.”
We walked to the bench by the equipment shed, far enough from the main building to be out of earshot of anyone lingering in the lobby. Rex sat first, leaving plenty of space for me. I stayed standing.
“You look good,” he said. “Teaching suits you.”
“Don’t start with compliments. Just say what you came to say.”
He nodded slowly, accepting that. “I came to apologize. Not the way I did in the hallway, where I was really asking you for something. I’m not asking for anything today. I just need you to know that I understand now. Actually understand.”
I waited.
“I should have seen what my mother was doing.” He kept his eyes on the ground, not trying to charm me or win me over.
Just talking. “I should have shut it down the moment she brought Annie into our home. You told me something was wrong, and instead of listening, I made excuses. I told myself she was just being difficult, that Annie was harmless, that you were reading into things.” He paused.
“I made you feel crazy for seeing what was right in front of both of us.”
Something loosened in my chest.
“At my aunt’s dinner, I should have stood up the second my mother made that comment about Annie joining the family.
I should have said, in front of everyone, that you were my wife and I wouldn’t tolerate anyone disrespecting you.
” His voice cracked slightly. “Instead I sat there like a coward, hoping it would blow over, hoping I wouldn’t have to choose. ”
“You did choose,” I said quietly. “By not saying anything, you chose them.”
“I know.” He finally looked up at me, and his eyes were red-rimmed.
“I chose comfort over you. Peace with them mattered more to me than protecting my wife. And I already told you what I meant that night at my uncle’s elbow, so I’m not going to stand here and say it again.
Words are what got us here. You’ve had plenty of mine. ”
I wanted to believe him so badly. But I’d spent a year believing in things that turned out to be illusions.
“Sorry doesn’t give me back that year,” I said. “It doesn’t undo the damage.”
“I know. I’m not asking it to.” He stood up, keeping a careful distance between us.
“I’m not asking for anything, Freya. I just needed you to know that I see it now.
All of it. And I’m going to keep showing up, not because I expect you to forgive me, but because you deserve to know that someone is finally paying attention. ”
He turned to leave, and I let him go. My throat was too tight to call after him, even if I’d wanted to.
I watched him walk across the parking lot, get into his truck, and drive away. The same thing he’d done every day this week.
It was working, and I hated that it was working.
I gathered my things and headed back into the arena to finish closing up. The observation area was empty now, all the parents and their kids long gone. But something caught my eye. A small leather notebook, lying on the plastic seat Rex had occupied.
He must have forgotten it.
I picked it up, intending to set it aside and return it to him next week. But curiosity got the better of me, and I flipped it open.
The first page was dated five days ago. The day he’d started coming.
Freya hums while she adjusts the stirrups. Some country song I don’t recognize. Need to find out the name.
I turned the page.
The kids call her Miss Freya. She corrects them gently, “just Freya is fine,” but they keep doing it anyway. I think they like having someone to look up to.
Another page.
Her favorite horse at the school is the bay mare with the white blaze. Juniper. She gives her extra treats when she thinks no one is watching. She talks to the horse like it’s a person. Tells her about her day.
Page after page. Every observation, every detail, every tiny piece of my life that he’d noticed while sitting silently in the corner.
The way I tucked my hair behind my ear when I was concentrating.
The encouraging phrases I used with the nervous kids.
And the song I hummed when I was tacking up, which he’d apparently looked up and written down the title of.
“Wildflowers” by Tom Petty. Her mom’s favorite.
My hands were shaking.
This wasn’t a man trying to buy his way back into my good graces. This was a man trying to learn me. Actually learn me, the way he should have done a year ago. Paying attention to the small things, the real things, the details that expensive gifts could never capture.
I closed the notebook and pressed it against my chest, blinking back tears.
It didn’t change anything. Nothing could change the year of loneliness, the humiliation, or the way he’d made me feel invisible in my own home. A notebook full of observations couldn’t erase any of it.
But it meant something. It meant he was finally trying to see me.
And I had no idea what to do with that.