Freya's Scheme Ruined My Marriage

I stood in the doorway of Freya's apartment, clutching a small box of my father's medications. One month had passed since Isaac moved in with her—one month of sleepless nights and hollow days. The doorman had let me up when I mentioned delivering medical supplies, but now I hesitated, my hand frozen before knocking.

From inside, I heard laughter—Isaac's deep chuckle mingling with Freya's musical giggle. A sound so intimate it made my stomach clench.

"Just deliver the medicine and leave," I whispered to myself, finally knocking.

Freya opened the door, her smile dropping when she saw me. She wore a silk robe that clung to her curves, her hair artfully tousled as if she'd just risen from bed. Behind her, I glimpsed Isaac at the dining table, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, wine glass in hand.

"Catalina," Isaac said, standing quickly. "We weren't expecting you."

"Clearly," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. I held out the box. "Dad's new medications. Dr. Wells asked me to bring them by for Freya's review before the pre-donation testing tomorrow."

Freya took the box, her fingers deliberately brushing mine. "How thoughtful. Would you like to come in? We were just having dinner."

The table was set for two, candles flickering between plates of pasta that looked suspiciously like my grandmother's recipe—the one I'd taught Isaac on our first anniversary.

"No," I said. "I need to get back to Dad."

Isaac approached, guilt flickering across his features. "How is he?"

"Dying," I answered flatly. "But you're keeping your promise, right? Living arrangements only?"

Something shifted in his eyes—discomfort, perhaps shame. "Of course, Cat."

Freya slid her arm through his. "Isaac has been a perfect gentleman."

I left without another word, the image of them standing together burned into my mind.

Two days later, I returned unexpectedly. Dr. Wells had questions about Dad's medical history that I thought Freya might need for the donation paperwork. This time, no one answered my knock, though I knew Freya was home—her designer handbag had been in the lobby when I arrived.

The door was unlocked. I pushed it open, calling out, "Freya? It's Catalina."

The apartment was silent except for the soft crackle coming from the fireplace in the living room. I followed the sound and froze.

Freya knelt before the fire, feeding something into the flames. As I moved closer, my heart stopped—our wedding photos. The edges curled and blackened as she methodically destroyed each memory.

"What are you doing?" My voice emerged as a horrified whisper.

She jumped, feigning surprise. "Catalina! I didn't hear you come in."

"Those are my wedding photos," I said, lunging forward to grab what remained, but it was too late. The last picture—Isaac carrying me across the threshold of our first apartment—curled into ash.

"Where did you get these?" I demanded.

"Isaac brought some things from your house," she replied smoothly. "I was just organizing when I accidentally knocked the album into the fire. I'm so terribly sorry."

The lie was so blatant it stole my breath. "You expect me to believe that?"

She widened her eyes, the picture of innocence. "It was an accident while I was preparing a romantic—I mean, a nice dinner for Isaac. He works so hard."

The front door opened before I could respond. Isaac called out, "Freya?"

When he entered the living room and saw us, confusion crossed his face. "Cat? What are you doing here?"

"She came by with some medical questions," Freya answered before I could. Suddenly, her eyes filled with tears. "And I've done something terrible, Isaac. I accidentally destroyed some of your wedding photos while cleaning. I feel awful."

She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with convincing sobs.

Isaac immediately went to her, arm around her shoulders. "Hey, it's okay. They're just pictures."

"Just pictures?" I echoed, disbelieving. "That was our wedding album."

He glanced at me, irritation flashing across his features. "It was an accident, Cat. Don't make her feel worse."

Freya peered up at me through tear-spiked lashes, triumph glittering beneath her perfect tears.

I realized then what I was up against. This wasn't just about three months of living arrangements. This was war—and Freya had already begun dismantling my marriage piece by piece, memory by memory.

And Isaac was letting her.