Page 75 of Checks & Bonds

I shuffled into the kitchen, the cold tile floor a sharp contrast to the warmth of the bedroom. My hands moved almost on their own as I reached for the coffeepot. The machine clicked on, and I watched as water began to drip through the grounds. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, a small comfort in the otherwise silent house.

As I waited for the coffee to finish, I leaned against the counter, letting my mind wander. The kitchen felt too big, too empty. Every creak and groan of the house seemed amplified in Henry's absence. The quiet was unsettling.

Suddenly, my phone rang, breaking through the stillness like a jarring alarm. I frowned, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was early—too early for most people to be calling.

I reached for my phone, curiosity mingling with a touch of annoyance. My mother's name flashed on the screen.

"Mom?" I muttered under my breath.

It wasn't like her to call unless something was wrong. My heart skipped a beat as I hesitated before answering. What could she possibly want?

The coffee pot gurgled behind me, the smell of brewing coffee filling the air. With a deep breath, I answered.

"Mom?"

"Freya," she said, her voice cold and clipped. "We need to talk."

I could already feel the weight of her disapproval through the phone. "About what?"

"Don't play dumb with me. Your engagement. You've ruined everything."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't act like you don't know," she snapped. "You're supposed to be engaged to Henry Mathers, and here you are, slumming it up with some soccer player? How could you be such a slut?"

The word hit me like a slap in the face. My blood went cold.

"What are you saying?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"What am I saying?" Her laugh was bitter and harsh. "Everyone knows what a slut you are now."

My hands began to shake, the phone feeling heavy in my grip.

"Your father insisted on this engagement as a way to find someone to take care of you," she continued, her tone icy. "He wanted to guarantee someone would be with you forever. But now? Now you've ruined it. You've embarrassed us, Freya. I wouldn't be surprised if he calls off the whole thing. If I saw the photos, I would. And then, you'll be all alone."

Before I could respond, the line went dead. I stood there, the silence in the kitchen deafening. The coffee pot finished its cycle with a final hiss, but I couldn't move.

Her words echoed in my mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.

I stood there, my mother's words echoing in my mind. Photos? What photos? My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to piece it together.

I never sent photos of myself to Dan. But had he taken photos of me? To remember me by?

A memory surfaced—Dan with his phone out, snapping pictures of us during our time together. At the time, I didn’t care. I was rebelling, living in the moment, desperate to carve out a piece of happiness for myself. It seemed harmless then.

But now, with my mother's venomous words still stinging, my heart skipped a beat. If those photos got out...

I sucked in a breath, my fingers trembling. My mother was right. She hadn’t spoken to me in months, but she was right about this. I might have ruined everything.

I needed to see those photos.

With shaky fingers, I pulled up my phone and typed in Dan's name. They popped up instantly. Pictures of Dan and me together. Smiling, laughing, caught up in the thrill of our forbidden romance. And there they were—the photos that could destroy everything: intimate moments captured in pixels.

My breath hitched as I stared at them. It was like looking at a different person—someone carefree and reckless, oblivious to the consequences of her actions. That girl had no idea what kind of storm she was inviting into her life.

The first picture I pulled up made my stomach twist. It was a close-up of Dan and me, our faces inches apart, eyes closed, lost in a kiss. His hand rested on my cheek, fingers splayed out gently, while my hand clutched the back of his neck. The intensity of the moment was palpable even through the screen. The light from the sunset behind us cast a golden glow, making everything look almost ethereal.

The next image was even more intimate. We were lying on his bed, tangled in sheets. My head rested on his bare chest, his arm wrapped around me protectively. The soft light from the bedside lamp highlighted the contours of our bodies. My fingers traced invisible patterns on his skin, and there was a peaceful look on my face—one that seemed so foreign to me now.

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