Page 6 of Snowy Secrets

I wipe a hand down my face and let my head flop back against the cushion as the buzz hits me. I've lost the one thing—the one person—who means everything to me.

Her dad sits with me, sipping his own drink in silent comradery.

After a while, I jerk out of my stupor and stand. He stands with me and walks me to the door, shaking my hand.

"Stay safe out there. You hear me?"

I nod and trudge down the drive to my car. It takes no time to return home, grab my gear, and head to the base. I don't have a choice but to leave town, but it doesn't mean I have to go without one final Hail Mary.

I open the small string of texts I've sent Bella and type out a final one, even if it means nothing to her.

I'll wait for you.

Even if she never forgives me.

3

BELLA

The Present Day, eight years later

When Ginny was born, I complained a lot. Not all of it came from a bad place, but I was really struggling. I'd just moved into a small studio apartment in Spokane because of work demands. And I was a single mom. My parents were having a hard time reconciling with my situation, so we weren't talking—this fixed itself when I took her down to Whispering Pines six months ago.

Thankfully, Millie was around to help when she could, but other than her presence at the house once a week, I was on my own. And, like most new moms, I wanted to be the very best mama out there, like top-tier. No one could defeat me at this parenting game. This started with my wanting an induction when the due date arrived, but the baby wasn’t in a hurry to come out.

To cut to the chase, the birth process became traumatic, where I could practically feel my uterus being taken out of my body. Ginny had fluid in her lungs, but boy, was she a fighter. When they finally handed her to me, I thought she wouldn't latch because we'd missed the Golden Hour. I was wrong. Mylittle girl was a champ. She still is, of course. My breasts begin hurting at the mere memory of her tiny, wrinkly face, her semi-bald head, how pink her toes and fingers used to be, and how she'd smile whenever she was a gassy little fart monster. She was absolutely perfect.

I wish I could say the same about my life. I had bad days. I had moments of wondering whether life was better before—it wasn't, although technically, it was easier with the sheer lack of responsibilities and my penchant for the wild life. Ginny, in a sense, grounded me and made me settle down to think with my head first. But she was a terrible sleeper—even at nine months, when we'd begun mastering solid foods, I was lucky if I could get a two-hour stretch at night. Sleep training was never an option, so we slogged through, until at eighteen months, she finally decided sleep wasn't all that bad.

All my demons came flooding in when I sat rocking her straight from ten p.m. to six a.m., with little breaks where I caught some shut-eye. And all those demons looked a lot like River asking me to politely fuck off.

He had changed the whole trajectory of my existence, but not in a sweet way like Ginny. Of course…what we did created her, and I was forever grateful for my baby. But him? Oh, if I ever saw Whispering Pines's golden boy again, I'd make sure he knew how much he had hurt me. I scowl heavily at the memory of our last meeting. Maybe I'm just in a foul mood. Or maybe he's just an asshole.

I shake my head and push out of the recliner in my two-bedroom apartment. I've come a long way since those early days of pure hustle. I walk to the window and peer out. The city is already awake. Time to get to it. The soft glow of the early morning sun filters through the curtains as I tiptoe into Ginny's room. Her little face is peaceful in sleep, her curls splayed acrossher pillow. I lean over and gently shake her shoulder. "Wake up, sweet pea. Time to start the day."

Ginny stirs, rubbing her eyes with tiny fists. "Good morning, Mama," she mumbles, a smile spreading across her sleep-mussed face.

"Good morning, my love," I say, scooping her into a hug and planting a kiss on her forehead. "How about some blueberry pancakes?"

Her eyes light up instantly. "Yes, please!"

We head to the kitchen of our chic apartment. The large windows let in the golden light, and the sleek, modern design is softened by cozy touches—a knitted throw on the couch, family photos on the walls, and Ginny's latest crayon masterpiece stuck to the fridge. Nothing comes close to that, not even the expensive crystal bowl that's the centerpiece of our dining table.

I set Ginny up at the counter with her favorite stuffed bunny, Mr. Flopsy, and start mixing the pancake batter. "Do you remember the first time you had blueberry pancakes?" I ask, tossing a wink her way.

She giggles. "I made a mess!"

"That's right! Blueberries everywhere," I say, laughing. "And Mr. Flopsy got a blueberry bath."

As the pancakes sizzle on the stove, I heat up some milk. I glance over at Ginny, who's now singing a song to Mr. Flopsy. Her independence is growing every day, and while it makes me proud, it also tugs at my heart. I miss the days when she needed me for everything.

Her early months were full of three a.m. wakeups. The colicky cries echoed through the dimly lit nursery, bouncing off the bright honey and brick-red walls and burrowing into my exhausted brain. Milk-stained pajamas had clung to my body, my hair a bird's nest of unwashed strands. I had bounced Ginnygently, murmuring soothing nonsense, but the screams had only intensified.

Why won't she stop crying?I had thought desperately, tears welling up in my own eyes.Please, just let me sleep.

Meanwhile, my social media feed had been a parade of blissful motherhood. Perfectly posed photos of glowing mothers cuddling their cherubic babies, captions proclaiming the joys of sleepless nights and endless diaper changes. They made it look so easy, so effortless. My own experience felt like a chaotic battleground, a constant struggle against an invisible enemy.

The days blurred into a hazy montage of spit-up stains, overflowing diaper pails, and the ever-present fear of failing. The pressure to be the perfect mother, the one who cherished every moment and never lost her cool, was suffocating.

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