Page 1 of Law Of Love

One: Freya

My head shot up as my mother yanked the car door open, clambering in to shelter from the violent downpour outside. Her hair was sopping wet from the few seconds she had spent running to my vehicle, causing me to laugh.

“That was fast,” I said, turning on the heating system. “I thought you’d be a lot longer than that.”

My mom shrugged. “When you've been waiting for as long as I have to divorce your father, the papers practically sign themselves.”

Gazing at her, I sighed, partly in relief but also in sorrow. It was official. My parents had been talking about divorcing for years. However, I never truly believed they’d actually do it, secretly hoping they would work out whatever was coming between them for the sake of our family. But I knew better.

They weren't happy together, and I was no longer a child. They didn't need to put me first to give me a somewhat 'normal' childhood. Although, if going to bed and hearing your parents yell at each other every night about how much they hated each other was considered ‘normal’, they did me a favour by staying together.

“Oh, honey, come here,” she cooed, reaching over the handbrake to embrace me.

“Mom, seriously, I'm fine. I'm twenty-two years old,” I reassured her, forcing a laugh as I drove. “I can handle it.” There was nothing I could do to change the inevitable—even though I didn’t want to accept that my family was now officially broken. “Have you heard from him? I thought he was supposed to be back by now.” I briefly glanced at my phone, disappointed that my father hadn't replied to the last few texts I’d sent him—nor had he answered my calls.

My mom rolled her eyes. “You know what he's like, Freya. Working is his life. He’s likely just booked a fancy hotel somewhere and is staying an extra few nights. He'll come back soon, and then he can get moving out sorted.”

“Maybe.” I sighed, aggravated. I constantly felt as if I was out of the loop when it came to my father. His communication skills were shoddy. He hadn't been around a lot, especially as I got older. He’d often disappear on lavish business trips with colleagues and not return for weeks at a time, forgetting to update us on his whereabouts.

I hadn’t had a proper conversation with him in years, and anytime I tried to speak to him, he brushed me off like I was a major pain in his ass. His desire to spend time with us had dwindled to the point of non-existence.

“How's that new boyfriend of yours?” my mother asked once we pulled into our driveway.

My eyes widened, and I shook my head, laughing awkwardly as I waited for her to unlock the front door to the house. “Mom, he's not my boyfriend.”

She held up her hands defensively before continuing to rummage around in her bag. “Where are these damn keys?”

I cocked my head, my eyebrows furrowing once I noticed that the front door was slightly ajar. I pushed it, stepping inside the house, my soggy shoes leaving brown footprints on the elegantly tiled flooring.

“Dad? Is that you?” I called out, almost jumping out of my skin, when a bald man dressed in a tight black T-shirt and smart pants stepped into the hallway. His eyebrows raised in displeasure at our arrival; his form stood tall, his chest puffed out.

“Please don't be alarmed, ladies. My name is Officer Barkle from the Virginian R.S.A,” he said huskily, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a badge.

My eyes narrowed suspiciously, and my mom cleared her throat from behind me, folding her arms across her chest.

“What are you doing in my house?”

“Are you Mrs Henderson?” questioned Officer Barkle, to which my mother nodded in response.

“Excuse me, sweetheart,” came a voice beside me, and I turned to see two men waddling out of the kitchen, their muscles contracting as they attempted to hold up our large silver fridge between their chests. They slipped past us and headed for the front door, causing my heart to skip a beat.

“What are you doing with all our stuff?” I asked with panic as another man in uniform strolled past me. He clutched a few pieces of our priceless artwork in his hands and offered me a pitiful smile before dropping eye contact.

“This house and everything in it is being repossessed.”

My face blanched. “What do you mean, repossessed? Why?”

Reaching into his back pocket, Officer Barkle pulled out multiple pieces of paper, handing them to my mother. “These are all copies of the warning letters sent to you about paying your long outstanding debt. You can see that the latest letter was dated the twenty-ninth of October, which was four weeks ago today. It states that if nothing is paid in those four weeks, then the house and the majority of your furniture in it will be repossessed to pay your balance."

My mother's face was a mask of pure shock and despair, and she shook her head fiercely. “No, there has to be a mistake. We don't have any debt.”

“I'm afraid you do, Ma'am,” he responded, pointing to the letter, my mother's mouth popping open as she read over the printed words—bold and red.

“I've never seen these before.”

“They were addressed to both you and your husband and were delivered to this address.”

“Please, just wait!” pleaded my mother as two more men lugged out our small loveseat couch—the very one I'd fallen asleep on the other night, having spent hours talking on the phone to Zach. “Let me just call my husband, please!”

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