FREYA Pov

Today is George's birthday, and I am so excited. I bought a cake and a bottle of wine. We won't just be celebrating his birthday, but we will also be celebrating six months of waiting.

And six months of my grandfather's non-interference in my life.

I smiled proudly as I walked into his company building. Everyone's eyes widen as soon as they see me.

I want to be confused, but of course, they must be surprised at the huge cake I'm holding.

"W-welcome, Mrs.. Sinclair." The downstairs receptionist greets me.

I smiled at her, shrugging my shoulders with a playful toss.

"What a wonderful day it is, isn't it?" I say cheerfully to the elevator security. My short green dress clings to my body as my heels hit the floor with classic thuds.

My honey-blonde hair swivels around my waist and back as I walk.

"Welcome, Mrs. Sinclair." He smiles nervously.

I shook it off and walked into the elevator. Balancing the cake in one hand, while sticking my phone in my mouth, I use my now free hand to press the button to the last floor.

Feeling completely elated, I sensed my excitement rise as the elevator's humming signaled my getting closer to the tenth floor.

As soon as the elevator opens, George's secretary jumps to her feet. Almost as if she has just spotted a ghost.

"Are you okay?" I ask her, wondering what all the weirdness is about today.

"Mrs Sinclair! I didn't expect to see you here today. At this time. Mr. Sinclair is busy. He has a meeting with a very important client and..."

I see beads of sweat start to pebble over her modestly made-up face, and I begin to wonder.

Today is his birthday. Of course, he always cancels his afternoon meetings. "I have his schedule." I lie and push past her with the cake in my hand.

She trods behind me with her hands clasped together.

"Please, ma'am." I hear her whisper behind me, and I turn to her with a "stop being ridiculous" smile.

I pushed the door open, expecting to see my husband lying back against his chair and waiting for me.

And to my horror, he is lying alright, with his mouth open in voiceless moans.

I watch as a woman's head bops up and down in between her legs, and my scream is stuck within my throat.

It is only the sound of the cake falling from my hand that draws their attention to me, and on seeing who the woman is, I faint.

Linda, how could it be Linda? I think as darkness swirls around me.

I opened my eyes to the feel of something cold touching my head. We are still in his office, but I am now lying on the couch.

Linda is at the end of the room, languidly resting against the windowsill. While George paces up and down in front of me.

As I sit up, his eyes widen, and he rushes up to me.

"Are you okay? Do you remember anything?" he asks. And I looked up at him as if he were a madman.

"Am I supposed to forget that I found you moaning about my best friend sucking you off?" I ask, wondering how stupid he must be.

He sighs, and I see the regret in his eyes - but it is fleeting - and turns to anger. He rises to his feet and glares down at me.

"This is all your fault, you know?" He snaps angrily, biting his gum as if to hold back the venom he wants to spew.

"Really?" I collected myself and sat up. My eyes shot at Linda, who stands by the window, backing us, as if she suddenly wants to give us some privacy.

"Please, enlighten me how your fucking best friend is my fault!" I yell at him, and he recoils. I have never been so vulgar.

He grumbles something inaudible and then turns.

"You and your stupid one-year no-consummation rule are the reason! Look at me, Freya. "I'm a man, not some porcelain Ken doll you married and kept doing all your bidding while you flirted around!" He yells back.

"Flirted around? I'm sorry, my Master's and PhD classes, research, and examinations are me flirting around?"

"I don't know! I don't know what you do when I'm not around. How can a woman demand a man to stay off sex for a year?" he yells.

"So, instead of looking for some whore, you decided my best friend was your go to?" I ask, still unable to piece together the idea behind the betrayal.

"She doesn't look like I did much to convince her, does she?" He smirks. This time, Linda turns around. Her eyes are defiant and unapologetic.

It is almost as if she is daring me to accuse her or confront her.

"How could you do this to me?" I ask, feeling my heart bleed.

"It's nothing personal." She replies coldly. "I just helped you keep him warm until you were ready."

She smiles again, as if she did me a huge favor, and I'm supposed to kneel and thank her instead of complaining.

I sit still watching them, clenching and unclenching my fist. I don't know how, but I blurt it out through gritted teeth.

"I want a divorce."

George takes one look at me and bursts into laughter. "Oh, come on, sweet pea." You know you can't do that. You are in love with me."

"Besides, this is just a misunderstanding. We'll work it out, right, Linds?" he asks her.

Linds?

"How long?" I asked him.

"What?"

"How long has this been going on?" I reply.

"Five months. "And a half, if you count the week after your boring honeymoon," Linda answers, easing herself into the visitor's chair.

I look from him to her and vice versa. Disgusted by the sight of them, I shook my head and got up to leave.

My head swoons, but I manage to make it to my car and over to my lawyer's office.

When George returns home that evening, the divorce papers are already on the bedroom table. I hear the living room door shut, followed by his approaching steps up the stairs.

As he enters the room, the only light shining is the one enhancing the divorce documents for his viewing. I sit silently as he picks it up and reads it.

He scoffs to himself and, with a simple shrug of his shoulder, picks up the attached pen and signs it. And then he walks back out of the room, ramming the door.

His retreating steps sound towards the living room door again and then to his car as he turns on the ignition and drives away from the house.

He is going back to her.

The pain shoots through my chest. He didn't even fight or try to stop it. He just signed it.

As painful as it seems, the only thing more painful is the fact that I have no other choice. I can't continue staying here.

And so, I pick up my phone and make the payments. I have to return home.