Page 1 of Slay All The Way

1

ALASKA

Santa Tell Me - Conquer Divide

Snowflakes drift down like little pieces of glitter, falling lazily onto the cobblestone streets of St. Jacobs. It’s everything I imagined—old-fashioned Christmas lights strung between lampposts, market stalls glowing with fairy lights, and the smell of cinnamon and pine filling the air. I should be excited, maybe even a little enchanted by it all. After all, I’ve spent months planning this holiday trip for Mark and me. It’s supposed to be romantic, a time for us to reconnect.

But instead, I’m staring out the window of our car, biting my lip and trying to ignore the tension that’s been sitting like a stone in my chest ever since we pulled into town. Beside me, Mark is glued to his phone—again—his thumb flying across the screen as he taps out messages to god knows who. His jaw is tight, his attention locked on the glowing screen, not the snowy wonderland outside.

“Mark, did you hear me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, not expecting much of a response.

“Huh?” he mutters, barely glancing my way. “What did you say?”

“I thought we could head to the cabin, maybe take a walk through the market afterward?” I try to keep my tone light, hopeful. This is supposed to be a fresh start, a chance for us to get back to what we used to have.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” His voice is distant, like he’s already checked out.

I look back out the window, swallowing the bitter disappointment. Christmas carolers sing by the town square, their voices carrying through the crisp air, harmonizing perfectly with the jingling of bells from the horses pulling sleighs down the street. People are bundled up in scarves and wool hats, sipping hot cider and strolling hand-in-hand, laughing, smiling.

Everyone seems happy—except me.

We turn onto a quiet road leading into the woods. The trees are thick with snow, branches heavy and bending under the weight of it. Our cabin comes into view, a charming little place tucked between the pines, its windows glowing warmly with twinkling lights. There’s a wreath on the door, adorned with berries and pinecones, and smoke rises from the chimney. It looks like something straight out of a Hallmark movie.

But the fairy-tale setting doesn’t do anything to ease the ache in my chest. I’ve felt it for weeks now—the distance between Mark and I growing wider, even when we’re sitting right next to each other. He’s been so cold, so distant, always on his phone, always somewhere else.

At first I thought I was just being paranoid, but lately... I don’t know. He’s secretive. His phone is always in his hand, never left lying around like it used to be. And when I ask him about it, he brushes me off with excuses about work or turns it around on me. Telling me I’m overthinking, I’m making a big deal out of nothing.

Which just makes me feel even more insecure.

The car stops, and I glance at him, hoping for a moment—just one small moment—where he’ll look at me the way he did when we first met. But instead, he sighs, grabs his phone again, and steps out into the snow.

“I’ve got to make a quick call,” he says over his shoulder, already walking away toward the trees. “It’s a work thing.”

I stare after him, my heart sinking. “We just got here, Mark.”

“I’ll be back in a sec, okay?” He doesn’t even turn around.

I let out a breath, feeling a mix of frustration and loneliness settle over me. This was supposed to be different. This trip was supposed to be about us, and finding our way back to the connection we lost, but instead, it’s starting to feel like just another reminder of how far apart we’ve grown.

I step out of the car, the cold biting at my skin immediately, even through my thick coat. The sharp wind nips at my cheeks and nose, and my breath rises in soft puffs as I slam the door shut behind me, the sound cutting through the quiet stillness of the snowy forest. The snow beneath my fur-lined UGG boots crunches softly with each step, packing down under the weight of my feet. I pause for a moment, taking in the scene before me—the cozy little cabin tucked beneath a blanket of snow.

The wooden porch creaks softly as I step up onto it, each board weathered but sturdy beneath my boots. Snow dusts the edges of the porch, clinging to the banister. Along the railing, strings of Christmas lights twinkle like stars, reflecting off the snow and creating a magical, holiday glow.

Two small lanterns, one on either side of the door flicker, their light bouncing off the icicles hanging from the roof. The icicles are long and sharp, glittering in the soft light like crystal daggers. A pair of red, plaid throw blankets are draped over the oversized wooden porch chairs, untouched since the owner prepped for our arrival.

I inhale deeply, the cold air sharp in my lungs but tinged with the faint scent of evergreen and smoke from the chimney. I look around, taking in the surroundings as my hand grips the cool knob and twists. Its beautiful. It feels peaceful, picturesque—like the perfect Christmas getaway, until my eyes land on Mark, his phone pressed to his ear as he stands out among the pines.

If only I didn’t feel like it was a total waste of time.

The warmth inside hits me like a hug as soon as I step in. The scent of vanilla candles and the crackling of the fire instantly make the space feel cozy, and welcoming. There’s a Christmas tree in the corner, decorated with silver tinsel and lights, stockings hung on the mantel, and even a welcome basket of baked goodies and wine beneath the tree.

Kicking my snow covered boots off by the door, I wander over to the window, staring out at the snow-covered trees. The wind picks up, making the branches sway, and for a moment, I swear I see something move in the shadows between the trees. My heart skips a beat, but when I blink, there’s nothing there. Just the swirling snow.

I shake my head and step away from the window. I’m letting my imagination get the better of me. Still, there’s this... feeling, like someone’s watching. I can’t explain it, but it’s there, crawling up the back of my neck. I glance over my shoulder, scanning the room even though I know I’m alone.

The large oak door creaks, and Mark walks in, shoving his phone into his pocket. “I’m back,” he says, his tone nonchalant, as if the world outside the cabin hasn’t felt like a suffocating trap.

“About time,” I reply, crossing my arms. “I thought you were going to take forever.”

---