Page 54 of My Secret Santa Daddies

Eventually, the darkness closes in and sleep finds me.

The exhaustion of everything weighing me down like a stone sinking into the ocean. But it isn’t long before the quiet turns into something else, something far more sinister. I’m not resting—I’m remembering.

The cold bite of the air is the first thing I feel. The wind is howling, just like it is now, but I’m not in the lodge anymore. I’m in a car.Hercar.

Anna is beside me, her laughter filling the small space as we drive down the winding road, the headlights cutting through theswirling snow. I can feel the warmth of her presence, the familiar sound of her voice as she talks about her plans for the future, about Griffin, and the life she was building with him.

I laugh along with her, but there’s a weight in my chest, something I can’t name, something that feels off. The road ahead stretches endlessly, the snow falling faster, heavier, until it’s almost impossible to see. I wonder if we should pull over, but Anna doesn’t seem worried so I don’t say anything. She’s still smiling, still chatting like we have all the time in the world.

And then, the flash. Headlights coming at us from the opposite direction. Too fast. Too close.

“Anna—” I try to scream, but the sound is ripped from my throat as the car swerves. The tires screech against the icy road, and everything tilts. My heart pounds, panic rising like a tidal wave, and I grab the wheel, trying to steady it, to take control.

But it’s too late. The car spins out of control, and all I can see is the blur of snow, blinding headlights, and then the sickening sound of crunching metal as we slam into something solid.

Everything stops.

I’m frozen in place, my chest heaving with ragged breaths. I turn to Anna, her name on my lips, but she’s not laughing anymore. She’s slumped in her seat, her head turned toward me, her eyes open but empty.

“Anna!” I scream, shaking her, but she doesn’t move. The cold seeps into the car, into my bones, and I can’t breathe, I can’t think. All I can do is stare at her, at the lifeless body of my best friend, the girl who was supposed to have a whole future ahead of her.

My heart shatters, the guilt crashing over me like a wave.It should have been me.

I can’t save her. I can’t stop the nightmare from unfolding, the memory I’ve buried so deep, clawing its way back to the surface, suffocating me.

It’s my fault.

The world tilts again, the dream warping, and I’m back in the car, back in the moment before it all went wrong. But this time, I’m screaming. I’m screaming Anna’s name, begging her to stop, to slow down, to change the outcome before it’s too late. But she doesn’t hear me. She’s gone before I can even reach her.

I bolt upright in bed, my chest heaving, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. The room is too dark, too quiet, and my skin is slick with sweat, the nightmare clinging to me like a second skin.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.”

I barely register Cody’s voice before I feel his hand on my shoulder, warm and grounding, pulling me back from the edge. My vision is blurry, my mind is still tangled in the nightmare, but his presence cuts through the fog, and the panic, enough to make me breathe.

“Cody?” My voice is shaky, broken, and I can’t stop the tears that spill down my cheeks. My whole body is trembling, the weight of the dream—the weight of theguilt—still crushing me.

He moves closer, sitting beside me on the bed, his hand firm but gentle as he rubs soothing circles on my back. “You’re safe. It was just a dream.”

I shake my head, the tears falling harder now. “It wasn’t just a dream,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. “It washer—Anna. The accident...”

Cody stills beside me, but he doesn’t pull away. He waits, his eyes searching mine, and something in his expression—something patient, and understanding—makes me crack open in a way I’ve never allowed myself to before.

“I was with her, Cody,” I choke out, my voice breaking. “I wasright there—and I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t stop it. She was my best friend, and I just... watched her die.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his hand on my back stills, his breath hitching like he’s processing what I’ve said. I can’t look at him, can’t meet his eyes, because I know what he’ll see. All the guilt, all the shame I’ve been carrying for years, buried deep inside me like a wound that never healed.

“I should’ve done something,” I whisper, my throat raw. “I should’ve been the one... not her. It should’ve beenme.”

Cody’s hand tightens on my shoulder, and I feel him shift closer, his body warm and solid beside mine. He pulls the quilt up around me, covering the fact that I’m naked, but it’s dark and I don’t care right now. I just don’t want to be alone.

“Sierra,” he says softly, his voice low and steady, “it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

But the words don’t penetrate the thick wall of guilt I’ve built around myself. “You don’t understand,” I say, my voice cracking. “I keep thinking... if I’d just said something, if I’d just told her to slow down, or if I’d been paying more attention—maybe she’d still be alive.”

“Sierra, you can’t keep carrying this on your own. What happened to Anna... it wasn’t on you. It wasn’t something you could’ve controlled.”

The tears keep falling, but something in his voice—something gentle, something real—makes me look up, and finally meet his eyes. There’s no judgment there, no pity, just understanding. And in that moment, I realize I’ve been holding onto this guilt for so long, I don’t even know how to let it go.

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