Snowflakes began to fall from the sky, delicate and silent. This year’s snow came early, and it was growing heavier by the minute. Abigail had no choice but to make her way home through the thickening storm.
By the time she reached the villa, her coat was soaked through. Shivering, she opened the door.
Inside, the warmth of the living room was starkly contrasted by the scene before her—several people were already seated on the sofa, chatting and watching TV.
As Abigail stepped into the warmth of the house, the snow on her coat began to melt, forming small puddles at her feet. Her frozen hands slowly regained feeling, tingling with the sensation of warmth.
She walked past the group on the sofa, her wet footsteps faintly audible against the floorboards. Just as she reached the stairs, Sebastian’s voice cut through the low hum of conversation.
“Abigail.”
He had never addressed her with such formality before. The weight of his tone made her stop in her tracks. She turned, a flicker of hope glimmering in her eyes—a hope she didn’t even realize she carried.
But his next words extinguished that fragile spark, plunging her back into the cold.
“There’s so much water on you. Don’t track it everywhere. Gabriella might slip. Go stand by the door and dry off before coming in.”
He never once looked at her. His gaze remained fixed elsewhere, concern only for Gabriella’s safety—not for Abigail, shivering in her soaked clothes.
Her heart tightened, the pain a dull, relentless ache, as though a hand had clenched around it. She turned back towards the door, the faint laughter from inside the house piercing her like shards of ice.
Outside, the snow continued to fall, soft and silent. She stared at it, memories surfacing unbidden.
Every year, when the first snow arrived, Sebastian had insisted they watch it together. He once believed in the superstition—that those who watched the first snow together would stay together forever. He had always held her close, shielding her from the cold, his warmth a barrier against the chill.
Now, the irony was almost cruel. The man who once protected her from the snow had left her to stand alone in it.
When she finally reentered the house, the warmth that greeted her felt hollow. The living room was dark; the laughter was gone. They had forgotten her entirely, retreating to their rooms without a second thought.