Page 37 of Snowman

"Bree," Thor said, his voice as even as his features. He didn't flinch at my obvious hostility. "We ran your name through the database and found nothing. Is Bree short for something?"

"No," I said curtly, "that is my name."

There was a pause on the other end, and then his voice softened. "You're not lying, are you?"

Something inside me snapped. The anger I'd been bottling up boiled over, spilling out in a sharp burst. "First I'm a delusional, troubled young woman, and now I'm a liar too?" I shouted, myfingers clenching around the phone. "Aren't you the detective? You tell me. Why am I not in your database?"

"Bree," he said, his voice firm without trembling, trying to break into my anger.

I didn't let him finish. It was just too much, and in a surge of frustration, I let my anger boil over. I pushed the phone back at the nurse, turning and burrowing into myself. She didn't hassle me further but took the phone and headed out; the soft ticking of her shoes trailed down the hallway.

I pushed the pillow aside, angry, not at him, but at myself for trusting him, for letting myself believe even for a moment that he could help me. Turning to the other side of the bed, I stared at the wall while my mind was a vortex of frustration and exhaustion.

A soft knock sounded in the room, breaking the silence. I didn't answer, I refused to turn. That was when I saw him, his figure reflected in the window ahead of me. A black hoodie covered his body, paired with blue jeans outlining his legs.

"Isak?" I asked, sitting up slowly before I turned to him.

He came into the room, holding a white rose in his hand. He approached me and reached out to hand it to me. "This is for you," he said softly. "White, just like snow."

Snow.

I took the rose, a smile spreading across my face despite myself. "It's beautiful," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I've never gotten flowers before."

Not from anyone.Ever.

For a moment, the walls I'd built around me cracked. The simple gesture—his presence—stirred a flicker of hope. Maybe,just maybe, someone could save me after all.

"Just a small gift," he said, sitting down beside me.

"Thanks," I muttered, the smile still lingering. "White's my favorite."

I lied.

It wasn't.Redwas.

Red had always been my favorite. The color of strawberries, of fire, of life itself. Maybe I loved it because it was something I couldn’t have. My allergy to strawberries had only made their rich, forbidden red more tempting. Over time, the color had attached itself to me, a symbol of everything I wanted but couldn’t have.

But white, white was safe.

"I figured," Isak said, his voice soft, the tips of his fingers brushing my cheek.

I closed my eyes at the touch, leaning into it for the briefest moment before pulling away. My breath caught as I pushed his hand back, shaking my head.

"I'm not ready," I said, my voice trembling.

He nodded, his eyes understanding, but sad. He didn't say anything, just let the moment hang in the air between us.

I had dreamed of this, of someone coming to save me. Of a prince on a white horse, riding in to take me away from everything that hurt. But life wasn't a fairy tale, and closure didn't come from someone else. It came from within. I had to fix myself. Heal myself. It wasn't fair to force my broken heart to try and love when all it needed was time to mend.

I knew that, deep down always had. But sometimes the pain was overwhelming, and all I wanted was an easy way out. I wanted someone else to take it away. To save me. To make it all better. But it didn't quite work that way. And I wasn't ready to let anyone in, not yet.

THIRTEEN

SNOWMAN

Since childhood, life hasso cunningly trained me to be cold, to bury my emotions deep, no matter what storm blew my way. Every breath I took carried the weight of knowledge that someday I would face the world alone. That time would shape me into what I am, not what I was meant to be.

I grew up in a house where survival was something earned: if you wanted to eat, you hunted; if you wanted to drink, you worked; if you wanted to matter, you fought for it. Loneliness wasn't just a feeling but a condition of air and ground beneath my feet. And in that isolation, I have built walls so high that no one would ever be able to climb. I pushed people away before they could get too close. Now, when I've finally found someone who can melt my frozen heart, I don't dare take off the mask I've worn for seven years. It was much easier to hide, to be a nobody instead of a somebody. I just became a ghost, someone no one sees but everyone fears. Because it was easy, for me.

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