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******Freja found herself in her cramped kitchen, gazing at the device in her hand. She had just uncovered twenty-eight missed calls from her sister, Freja. Instead of calling her back, she moved to the fridge and retrieved the leftover boiled rice she had prepared that morning. She must have silenced her phone during work; the day had been a whirlwind of dashing out the door, getting caught in the downpour, and accepting a ride from a coworker. Now, back in her apartment, the missed calls loomed heavily in her thoughts. After taking a deep breath, Freja finally decided to return her sister’s call. The phone connected, and Clinton's voice greeted her immediately.“Freya, you've called me twenty-eight times?” Freja grabbed a fork, her fingers trembling slightly. “Freya, I told you I'm not coming home for the get-together party.”“Freja, it’s Clinton.” The fork halted mid-air as Freja felt her stomach plummet.Clinton was the last person she wanted to speak with. “Why are you using F

She needed it to end but she couldn't stop it. She had seen it all, but for some reason, she still gets hurt by it over and over. She gathered herself together; she had to. If she didn't, who would save her?Freja brought her attention back to her bleeding leg. It wasn't that serious, the pain didn't even match what she had been going through internally. She pulled herself up by supporting her weight with the dining chair. She then limped to the store room and returned shortly afterwards with a long broom and a packer. She carefully swept up the pieces of broken glass from the floor, taking her time to pick as much as she could see. Afterwards, she walked over the area with her bare feet, an act she regretted instantly as tiny pieces of glass clung to her feet. She sat down and gently cleaned them off. It was crazy, but she had to do it, she didn't want more yelling from Clinton, and if Philip, by chance, injured himself from this, he would forget that he did it and take it out on he

********Her mother had urgently summoned her to Washington a year ago, a call that whisked Freja away from work into an unforeseen mess.Upon her arrival, she found herself in a tense gathering that included Clinton’s family and her own. She stared at Clinton. He was dressed in his usual beautiful black tuxedo, but had a deep look of weariness etched on his features. It pulled at her heart. Despite the tension, she felt a flicker of compassion for him as she sat beside her mother.“I do not understand why everyone is here,” Clinton said, his voice lacking emotion, his fatigue evident.“Clinton, you're destroying yourself. You need assistance, you need help.” His mother, Ruth, pleaded, worry evident in her tone.“I can manage everything, Mum. Things have just been really tough lately,” Clinton asserted, a blend of defiance and desperation in his gaze.“Take some time off work, son. Spend time with your son and yourself,” his father, Dave, proposed, but Clinton quickly dismissed the id

It wasn't what she expected. She didn't want the best, but she had expected better. She never wanted this, the union, the family and especially him. She had admired him from afar but never dreamt of it being this close. Now she's living the dream, or better still, the nightmare.It had been two months since Freja got married to Clinton. It has been a rollercoaster of emotions for Freja; in all, it hasn't been so good. She never thought a day would come when she walked the corridors of her now late sister without hearing her voice or seeing her very similar face.Today has been like other days, boring and highly uneventful. The mansion was as cold as ever, and the corridors were colder than ever. Freja felt it more than ever, maybe it wasn't just because of the weather. Today, as every other day has been since this journey began, has been highlighted by Clinton's thunderous voice tearing through the empty corridors. His voice sent cold shivers down Freja's spine.Freja Aron. Now popula