Chapter 4: Scandal in the Snow

Every step felt heavy, the pain in my chest flaring with each movement. I kept my head high, refusing to let anyone see how much it hurt.

I didn’t want the money anymore. Not like this.

Some things just weren’t worth it. My dignity was one of them.

I suddenly wondered, Carter—

If one day you found out—this money could’ve kept me going a little longer—would you care?

Would you care? Would you even blink? The question gnawed at me, but I already knew the answer.

What kind of face would you make?

I pictured his expression—cold, maybe a little regretful. But not enough to change anything.

I went home alone, curled up in bed in pain, sweating from the agony.

The sheets were damp, my skin clammy. I tried to steady my breathing, counting backwards from a hundred to distract myself from the pain.

I took some prescribed sleeping pills and lied to myself.

The pills rattled in the bottle, a familiar sound. I told myself they’d help, that I’d wake up feeling better. But deep down, I knew it was just a temporary escape.

If I fall asleep, maybe it won’t hurt anymore.

It was a childish hope, but it was all I had left. I closed my eyes and waited for the darkness to swallow me.

Half-asleep, I slid into twenty.

The memories came flooding back—late-night walks, cheap coffee, the way he’d tuck my hair behind my ear and promise me the world. Back then, love was enough. Or at least, it felt like it was.

That year on my birthday, we passed a coffee shop and saw a couple by the window.

I remember the glow of the neon sign, the warmth spilling out onto the snowy sidewalk. The couple inside looked so happy, sharing a slice of cake, their laughter muffled by the glass.

The girl held a little snow-white cake, so pretty, so delicious, so expensive.

I pressed my nose to the window, watching the candle flicker. The cake was small, but it looked like the best thing in the world.

I still remember—it was snowing hard that day. I scooped up a pile of snow, smiled at Carter, and asked, "Carter, doesn’t this look like a cake?"

He laughed, brushing the snow from my gloves. His cheeks were red from the cold, but his eyes were warm.

He hugged me tight. I didn’t see his eyes go red.

He held me close, his breath fogging up my glasses. I felt safe in his arms, like nothing could touch us.

Three days later, he showed up under my dorm with a big cake.

He was shivering, his hair dusted with snow. The cake box was bent at the corners, but he held it like it was made of gold.

A whole cake cost thirty-five bucks.

For us, that was a fortune. I knew how hard he’d worked to buy it.

But standing in the cold, snowy street, handing out flyers, he could only make ten dollars a day.

I pictured him, gloves too big, handing out flyers to people who barely looked at him. Every dollar he made was a small victory.

I saw his raw, cracked fingers and cried like a fool.

The sight broke my heart. I pulled his hands to my lips, trying to warm them with my breath. Tears slipped down my cheeks, freezing in the cold air.

Looking up, I shouted, "Carter, your hands are for writing, not for ruining just to make me happy."

My voice cracked, but I meant every word. He was meant for bigger things, not street corners and cheap flyers.

I said I didn’t deserve such an expensive cake...

He frowned, his jaw set. He wouldn’t let me refuse it.

Carter frowned and immediately retorted.

He said, "Rachel, you’re the best person in the world. You deserve all the good things in the world."

He looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered. For a moment, I believed him.

That day, I cried as I finished the whole cake. After so many years, I can’t remember the taste anymore.

But I remember the way he watched me, the way he wiped my tears and promised to always take care of me.

I just know that after that day, I never had a cake that tasted better.

No matter how fancy the bakery, no cake ever came close. Maybe it was the love, maybe it was the sacrifice. Or maybe it was just youth.

I slept for a long time, and in a daze, I heard my phone ring—rain tapping on the window in the background.

The ringtone was faint, almost drowned out by the rain tapping against the window. I fumbled for my phone, half-awake, heart pounding.