The Borrowed Father

FREYA’S POV

When I got home, the house felt different. Not good or bad, just different. Maybe emptier, maybe quieter, maybe I was just noticing things I did not for the first time in weeks. Dad’s truck was in the driveway, which meant he was still in, probably waiting for me. My arms ached a little from swinging that bat at Enzo’s rage room, but it was a good kind of ache. Like I’d wrung out some