Page 19 of Snowman

No one's ever going to save me,I thought, my mind climbing some sort of spiral staircase.No one ever will.

He pushed me onto the floor at the top of the stairs. My body crumpled like a ragdoll, cold wooden planks biting against my skin.

Before I could catch my breath, the tip of his shoe slammed into my ribs. White, hot pain seared through me. A sickening crunch followed, and I knew—something was broken.My ribs throbbed with every shallow breath.

But I stayed silent. I always stayed silent. This wasn't the first blow I'd taken.

Frustrated, he leaned over me. "I swear—"

His fist whacked again, this time finding its mark on my shoulder and shaking through my body while his hand tangled again into my hair, wrenching me down the hallway like a broken toy, scraping my knees along the floor, too weakened in body to oppose him and too beaten in the brain to even think about fighting.

Then, slicing through the chaos like a thin, distant thread, I heard it.

"Daddy?"

The voice was tiny, small. One word, but it stopped him cold.

He went completely still, his breathing harsh, his grip easing. Slowly, he turned his head to face whatever had made the noise, leaving me splayed upon the floor. His boots echoed on the hardwood as he crossed to the glass railing at the far end of the hall. His fingers wrapped around the glass, smudging the clean panes as he leaned forward.

"Mel?" he yelled, his voice a weird combination of shock and disbelief. "You can talk?" He let out a nervous, almost hysterical chuckle. "And walk?"

I tried to push myself up, but my arms folded beneath me. My body felt heavy and unresponsive, not my own. All I could do was lie there, watching helplessly as he ran down the stairs, his mood changing. I could hear him laughing when he reached her.

He was now laughing with Mom, hugging her. It was as if nothing had happened downstairs, as though the man who had unleashed his fury upon me never existed. I was forgotten upstairs, left crumpled on the floor, my face silently streaming with tears.

Why do people have children if they cannot give them the life they deserve?The question burnt in my mind without an answer.

The pain burned through my chest, though it wasn't even nearly as deep as the ache inside. A dark, festering trauma carved into my bones, deeper with each blow, and I walked in fear as though it were my second skin, turning at every step, afraid to trust or love.

Every tiny flicker of hope I'd dared to hold onto had been taken from me, leaving only emptiness.

I heard soft footsteps approaching.Mom.

"Go to the attic," she whispered, her voice low, her eyes darting toward the staircase. "Hide until he feels better."

Until he feels better.What about me? I wasn'tbetter. I wasn'twhole.I was broken.Summoning every last bit of strength in my body, I struggled to my feet. My ribs shrieked with every shallow breath, and my knees wobbled beneath my weight while I made ungainly progress toward the attic door. Mom followed along silently behind me.

I came to the door, stopping in front of it. "Mom?" I whispered, looking towards her.

She said nothing. The moment I stepped inside, the door swung shut behind me with a hollow click. The metallic sound of the key turning in the lock followed. My heart fell.

"Mom?" I called out, shaking and pounding on the door. "Mom!"

Her footsteps retreated down the stairs, fading.

I leaned against the door, hands falling limply to my sides as the tears came. They spilled over like waterfalls against my bruised and battered skin. My chest heaved up and down, the pain from my sobs mingling with agony from my injuries.

More than the outside wounds that were bleeding, though, were the inside ones. And these bled memories, regrets, terrors of burdens too hefty to bear.

It was cold and dark in the attic, with only a little bit of light allowed to pass through a round frosted window. I crumpled to the floor, bringing my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them tightly. I had nothing.

SEVEN

SNOWMAN

The late afternoon suncast a warm, golden glow across the horizon as it began its slow escape. The kind of peace I once cared for, felt so far away now, like a distant memory.

Ever since I saw her, peace had become a stranger to me. My mind was tethered to hers, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She was faint yet vivid, as though she were both a ghost and a dream—something I could see but never touch. Something I could never truly have, not with the life I lived, not with the lies I carried.

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