Page 42 of Snowman

She took a step closer to me, her hand glancing over my shoulder. "He touched me and I… I know this is wrong, but I liked it." Her words cut through me like a razor.

My body went stiff as the waves of repulsion washed over me, hot and uncontrollable. "I think I'm going to be sick," I said, trying to get to my feet in one motion; I almost fell.

My stomach was churning and I doubled over, clinging to my knees as I struggled not to let the nausea win. Mel broke down, sobs erupting through the room. And I couldn't comfort her. I couldn't look at her.

"He's not our dad," Mel whispered, her words shaking as if they could break her themselves.

I froze. Her words hung in the air like smoke, choking me. "He's not. What?" I whispered, while my breath hitched in my throat. "Was that woman right? Was I her daughter?"

Mel sank onto the edge of the bed, her face buried in her hands. "I don't know," she said, her voice breaking. "I really don't."

"Mel, this is sick," I told her, the words spilling from my mouth like cold razor blades. "What if?"

"I love him," she cut in, her voice barely audible but laced with raw emotion. Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed, "We wanted to escape together. He took me places, and when we're together, it feels so right."

Her words hit me like a gut punch. My stomach was churning violently, and I doubled over, grabbing at my abdomen. "I'm going to puke," I muttered, my knees hitting the floor as nausea rolled through me.

But I didn't.

"I swear, Bree, I don't want to hurt you," she cried. "But please, not a word to Laura, she'll freak out…"

"You think?" I yelled, cutting her off. My voice cracked, and I stared at her in disbelief. "You're fucking her husband," I whispered venomously, the disgust lacing every syllable. "I can't even believe I'm saying this."

Mel flinched but pressed on, her voice growing wilder. "All I know is we're here because of her. She pointed her finger and chose us." Her tears fell freely now, her hands wringing together as she spoke. "Joe just wanted her to be happy."

"This is sick," I said, my voice trembling as I stood. "All of it. This is all so fucking sick."

I turned, heading for the door, the walls closing in around me. I needed air. Space. Something to pull me out of this nightmare. But as I reached for the doorknob, Mel grabbed my hand, her grip desperate.

"Bree, please," she begged, her voice cracking. "Don't—don't go."

I yanked my hand free, my chest heaving as I stared at her. We stood there, crying, broken, standing at the edge of something we could never take back. We somehow ended up on the top of the stairs, both our emotions tangled in a storm of regret and despair.

And then, everything spiraled. A sudden pull, a shove. Which of us moved first, I will never know. It was as if time slowed, and the next thing I knew was weightlessness.

Everything around was a blur; the world flashed from dark to light as we tumbled down the stairs, rolling. It was a loud crash, deafening, but then all of a sudden there wasn't anything. No noise, no pain, void. We floated there, carried off somewhere to a point out of time. Just the two of us.

PRESENT DAY

Isak was still here. He'd fallen asleep in the chair by the window, his head tilted at an awkward angle. I didn't mind. Somehow, knowing someone was there with me made the silence feel less heavy, the night less suffocating. His soft, steady breaths were a reminder that I wasn't completely alone.

But then I heard the soft sound of footsteps. My heart raced as I slowly turned my head to the left. Thor appeared from the shadows, quiet, almost too quiet. He was holding something, a small box.

"I won't stay long," he said in a low, almost hesitating voice. "I just wanted to see you."

"Okay. You've seen me," I said, defensively crossing my arms, my tone sharper than I had intended.

He looked different. His hair was shorter now, the dark strands framing his face in a way that softened his features. It suited him, made him look older, maybe even wiser. But I refused to acknowledge it. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing I noticed.

"Yeah," he said, smiling faintly. "I did."

He cleared his throat and finally wore a serious expression. "I'm sorry," he said. "If I hurt you, in any way, that was never my intention."

"Well, you did," I said, slicing through the apology like a knife.

He hesitated. My words were hanging between us, yet he didn't argue; instead, he held out the box and placed it gently in my lap.

"Anyway," he said now with a softer voice, "this is for you."

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