FREYA
Nana finally turned and headed for the stairs, and I retreated back into the room to change. I felt a small surge of pride that I’d managed to push back the urge to ask about Steve. Because why should I care? I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of him being the first thing on my mind.
I pulled on a simple tank top and a short bum skirt, then spent a few minutes brushing my hair until it actually looked decent. I checked the mirror and actually smiled at the woman looking back.
This was how I’d always wanted to dress—walking around my own home, feeling pretty for my husband. It was the version of marriage I’d imagined before I actually got married.
But that dream had sold out barely three months in. And my reality is waking up to a husband who was already fully dressed a
