Chapter 4: Letting Go of Winter

During the days I was away from Maple Heights, Harrison didn’t call me once.

His silence was louder than any argument. I checked my phone obsessively, hoping for a message, a missed call, anything. But there was nothing. It was as if I’d never existed.

He’d always been like this—never taking the initiative, always distant.

I told myself it was just his way, that he needed time. But deep down, I knew better. He didn’t care enough to fight for me, to even try.

I met with several lawyers about the divorce.

The offices were cold, the conversations clinical. I signed papers, answered questions, tried to keep my voice steady. The lawyers spoke in legalese, but all I heard was the end of everything I’d ever wanted.

As the agreement was drafted and I was about to head back to the Whitmores’ old house, I got a call from an unfamiliar number.

My hands shook as I answered, dread pooling in my stomach. I knew who it was before she even spoke.

I knew it was Julia.

There was a kind of sixth sense, a prickling at the back of my neck. I braced myself, ready for whatever she had to say.

I hesitated for a few seconds, then answered.

“Hello, who is this?”

All I got was a long silence.

The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate. I could hear her breathing, the faintest rustle on the other end.

Just as I was about to hang up, she finally spoke:

“Maple Heights is beautiful, isn’t it?”

Her voice was soft, almost wistful. The words twisted the knife, reminding me of everything I was losing.

It was the same voice, the same tone as that night—soft as spring rain, winding around my heart, making it hard to breathe.

I gripped the phone tighter, my knuckles white. Her presence was suffocating, her words a poison I couldn’t escape.

“If you have something to say, just say it.”

I dug my nails into my palm, letting the pain wash over me.

The sharp sting grounded me, kept me from falling apart. I refused to let her see me break.

“Lillian, it’s hard to put broken pieces back together, but I believe I can.”

Her confidence was infuriating, her calmness a slap in the face. I wanted to scream, to tell her she was wrong, but I stayed silent.

“Do you know why?”

“Why?”

“What you can’t have is always unforgettable, but what you had and lost—that’s what leaves the deepest mark.”

Her words were like ice, cold and cutting. I realized then that I’d never really had Harrison, not the way she had.

Maple Heights proves it, doesn’t it?

Julia was right.

Maple Heights would always be there, never disappearing.

The house was a monument to their love, a constant reminder of what I could never compete with. Every brick, every tree, every memory was hers.

Every time he left and came back, seeing that name would make him think of her all over again.

It was a wound that would never heal, a scar that would never fade. I realized then that letting go was the only way to save myself.

So this is what it means to think of someone, to never forget them, not even for a night.

Harrison gradually sensed something was wrong.

He paced the study, unease gnawing at him. The silence in the house was different, heavier. He tried to convince himself it was nothing, but the feeling wouldn’t go away.

Lillian hadn’t returned to Maple Heights.

He checked her closet, her drawers—her things were gone. Panic flickered in his chest, quickly smothered by anger.

No one from the Whitmore family’s old house had called either.

He found it odd. Usually, the family rallied around Lillian, calling him at the first sign of trouble. The silence was unsettling.

Over the past three years, Lillian would sometimes sulk and stay at the old house for a few days.

He’d grown used to her little rebellions, her silent protests. They always ended the same way—with him bringing her home, peace restored.

When that happened, Grandpa or Mrs. Whitmore would call him to bring her home.

He resented the interference, but it was easier than fighting. The family’s love for Lillian was a force he couldn’t ignore.

He used to be annoyed by these little tricks of hers.

But now that she was acting so differently, he was unsettled…

He called Mrs. Whitmore, standing under the eaves, making small talk before getting to the point:

“Did Lillian come back to the old house? Has she been crying to you and Grandpa again?”

He couldn’t let her hear that he cared. He tried to sound casual, but his voice was tight, betraying his anxiety. He watched the snow swirl outside, heart pounding in his chest.

Mrs. Whitmore was silent for a moment before answering:

“Yes, she came back.”

Typical Lillian. Relief washed over him, followed by irritation. He told himself she was being childish, that she’d come around soon enough.

A weight lifted from his chest.

He absently stroked the canary in his hand, a smile tugging at his lips: “She’s making life hard for you and Grandpa again, huh? Fine, I’ll come get her so she doesn’t turn the place upside down…”

“Harrison.”

Mrs. Whitmore suddenly cut him off.

“Lillian is gone.”

Her words hit him like a slap. He froze, the canary fluttering in his hand, its wings beating wildly.

“She left after giving me her things.”

He tried to process her words, to make sense of the sudden emptiness. His mind raced, searching for an explanation.

“No matter how I tried, I couldn’t make her stay.”

Her voice choked with tears: “What did you do to hurt her so badly?”

The accusation stung, sharper than he expected. He clenched his jaw, refusing to let the guilt show.

Harrison’s hand froze, startling the canary into frantic chirping.

He slowly regained his composure, face still calm. Calm. At least on the outside.

“What did she give you?”

“If she wants to go, let her. Where else can she go?”

He tried to sound dismissive, but the words rang hollow. The world felt suddenly bigger, colder, and he realized for the first time that he might have truly lost her. Was she really gone?

Yes, the world is big, but the Whitmore family is the only home Lillian has.

He wasn’t afraid she’d leave—she loved him too much to really go.

Mrs. Whitmore seemed to sob softly: “It’s the divorce papers.”

“She said she wants a divorce.”

“She wants to leave the city and never come back.”

For a moment, everything around Harrison went silent.

The words echoed in his mind, impossible to ignore. He felt the ground shift beneath him, the certainty he’d always relied on crumbling away.

Dark clouds loomed overhead, threatening more snow.

He glanced at the sky, watching the storm roll in. The world felt smaller, more fragile, as if it could break apart at any moment.

Mrs. Whitmore said something else, but he didn’t hear a word.

His thoughts raced, memories flashing before his eyes. He tried to hold onto something, anything, but it all slipped through his fingers.

It wasn’t until she called his name several times that he finally came back to himself.

He blinked, startled, the world snapping back into focus. He cleared his throat, trying to sound normal.

“What else did she say?”

“Nothing. She didn’t say anything.”

“She just asked me to find a time to give you the divorce papers.”

A cold wind whipped snow against his face, sharp and biting.

He brushed it away, voice steady as ever: “I’ll come get them now.”

He told the driver to take him to the old house.

As the car left Maple Heights, he looked out the window.

Heavy clouds covered the sky. More snow was coming.

Suddenly, he remembered: the night it snowed, not a single car had left Maple Heights.

He frowned, replaying the night in his mind. The roads had been impassable, the driveway blocked. He wondered how Lillian had managed to leave, and who had helped her.

So how did Lillian leave that night?

The question lingered, unanswered. He told himself it didn’t matter, but the doubt gnawed at him, refusing to let go.