FREYA
I feel a sharp pang in my heart from Eli’s words. No matter how many times he so easily makes me the villain, I can’t seem to get used to it.
I do not reply to him and I cross the room instead.
Martin’s eyes follow me as I come around the side of the table, and I keep my face soft because his face is the one I am answering, not his father's. I crouch beside his small high-back chair and his fork lowers slowly to his plate.
I lift my hand to his hair and run my fingers through it the way my brother used to run his fingers through my hair when I was small.
"Sweetheart, no. I'm not mad at you. I'm only tired. Look at me—” I smile at him, “do I look like I'm mad?"
He shakes his head, his eyes going wide.
"That's right. I just want to rest right now, all right? But you and I— tomor
