Page 47 of Snowman

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I held the phone Thor had given me. It was small, black, and simple—made for calls and nothing else. I stared at it, knowing they'd search for me before I left. I needed to hide it. Tying my hair back into a ponytail, I carefully wrapped the phone into the strands, twisting it into a bun. Standing in front of the mirror, I checked from every angle. It was invisible. But it was there.

I thought about leaving the phone behind, but the thought of calling him one last time was too strong. Even if it would be the last time I ever heard his voice.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway. I grabbed my red coat and stood, waiting. The door creaked open, and there they were—Mel and Mom, standing in the doorway. I ran to them, the need for a hug overwhelming every other thought in my mind.

Mel's arms wrapped around me tightly, and the tears came, unstoppable. I couldn't hold them back, even if I tried. For a moment, the pain dulled, replaced by the simple warmth of her hug.

We walked to the car together, the cold touching my skin through the thin coat. Joe was waiting inside, in the driver's seat, his silhouette framed by the light. As we climbed into the car, he spoke without turning around.

"We're moving tomorrow morning."

The words hung in the air, but this time, I couldn't sink into silence. I couldn't be the quiet Bree he knew.

So I asked, "Why?"

He glanced at the railway window, his reflection distorted by the frost. "You know why," he said simply.

I met his eyes through the mirror.

"Yeah," I said softly, a bitter edge on my tongue. "Unfortunately, no accidents will hide the truth now."

The car fell into silence. That same, muted, heartbreaking silence that always followed when the truth lurked too close. No one said a word. Maybe they were afraid that if they did, I'd finally tear down the curtain they'd so carefully hung over our lives.

The engine roared to life, and we drove off. The house loomed in the distance, each turn of the wheel taking us closer to it for the last time.

Not much happened between morning and afternoon. As soon as we arrived, all we got were instructions to pack. I found myself in the bedroom, surrounded by the faint smell of old wood and stale air. A purse sat on the bed, and inside it was my notebook.

I sat down, pulling the notebook out. The last entry was from the day we arrived here. It felt like yesterday—but it wasn't. Almost a month had passed. Time had slipped by so fast, yet every second felt like a nail driven into me, an excruciating pain that refused to let up.

I turned the page and began to write:

Date: December 6th, 2016.

Mood: Fine.

Thankful: For life.

As I finished, a tear fell, smudging the ink. I pressed my palm to my lips, stifling a scream that clawed its way up my throat. My fingers gripped the pen tighter, and with a trembling hand, I scratched over"FINE"and"LIFE"so hard the paper tore. In the jagged space next to it, I wrote:

Date: December 6th.

Mood: Sad.

Thankful: For truth.

Something in me had died that day by the river. Maybe it was the quiet version of myself—the one who didn't fight, the one who hid behind silence. Now, what was left was someone louder, someone desperate to stop pretending.

I sat there, realizing for the first time that it was okay not to be fine. It was okay to stop wearing the mask. But it didn't make it easier. I was so tired. Tired of pretending, tired of feeling alive when every breath felt like it shouldn't belong to me.

The door creaked open softly. Mel stepped in, holding a steaming cup of tea.

"Hey," she said, her voice gentle as she closed the door behind her. She placed the cup in front of me. "This might help."

"Thank you," I said quietly, taking the tea in my hands. The warmth seeped into my palms, grounding me, if only for a moment.

"They told us what happened," she said softly, sitting beside me. Her hand rested on my shoulder, and I saw the tears welling in her eyes. "The first time... it's the hardest," she whispered. "But over time, it gets easier. You learn to accept that it's something you... need."

Her words sliced through me. A tear slipped down my cheek.

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