Page 64 of Snowbound
Four days to pack up. Fly out. Step back into a version of myself that doesn’t have room for wool blankets and hot cocoa and the sound of her laughter in the snow.
She shifts in the chair, and her eyes find mine.
“Bad news?”
Her voice is soft, careful.
I shake my head. Then stop.
“It’s complicated,” I say. But it’s not.
She waits.
I move toward the fire, dropping into the chair across from her. The distance between us is a breath. A heartbeat. A lifetime.
“My father wants me home.”
She doesn’t flinch. But something in her posture goes tighter, less curled and more alert.
“I didn’t know you still talked to your dad.”
“Aye.” I sigh.
“Something wrong?” she asks curiously.
“No. Just… work.”
“I didn’t know you worked together.”
I shrug. “Yes, and… no.”
She nods slowly. “So you’re… leaving.”
It’s not a question. I hate the way her face falls. I’d do anything to keep her happy, to keep her here with me and erase those worry lines between her brows.
I stare at her. A little bit of snow still clings to the tips of her hair, half-melted now. Her legs are tucked close to her chest like she’s bracing.
“I don’t want to, but I…”
She says nothing.
“I have to,” I add.
Still nothing.
The silence feels worse than shouting. Worse than crying. It’s knowing that she’s retreating into that quiet place where I can’t follow, where her thoughts twist without me.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I always knew this wasn’t forever.”
My stomach turns. “That’s not what I wanted.”
“But it’s what’s happening.”
The fire pops, but she doesn’t look at me. Just stares into the flames like she can find a version of this moment that hurts less.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, my voice low.
