I Left Him in the Snow

First stop of our first road trip together. I went into the rest stop to grab a bottle of water. When I walked back out to the parking lot, his car was gone. I called Wright ten times. He declined every single one. An hour later, the call finally went through, but the voice on the other end belonged to my best friend, Serena. "I'm so sorry, Gwen. Wright turned back to pick me up. We just got on the interstate. We'll be at your rest stop in an hour, tops." After she hung up, I opened Instagram. Before we left, I had logged into Wright's account on my phone. His latest post was flooded with comments. Under a sea of "couple goals" and "finally!" comments, there was one from Serena, complete with a pouty emoji: "Secretly going on a trip without me? I'm mad!" Wright had replied: "Come downstairs. I'm coming back to get you." I wanted to laugh. For the last year and a half, Wright had been too lazy to grab me a bottle of water when he went to the store. He was too lazy to pull over and pick me up from work, even when it was on his way. Because of his constant lethargy, it had taken eighteen months of begging, pleading, and compromising just to get him to agree to this pre-marital road trip. He’d even planned the itinerary himself—a sudden burst of effort that had kept me awake for nights, giddy with excitement. Now, staring at my phone in the sterile light of the rest stop lobby, I realized that the change I had fought so hard for was something someone else could extract from him without even trying. … By the time Wright’s SUV finally pulled into the parking lot, the crowd around me had cycled through three times. Serena stepped out of the passenger side, clutching a vibrant iced drink from a local café, her smile radiant. "My queen!" she called out, walking toward me. "I know I kept you waiting. I brought a peace offering!" She pulled a straw out of the bag, stabbed it through the lid, and gently pressed the cup against my lips. Instinctively, I took a sip. The moment the sweet, heavy taste of mango hit my tongue, I recoiled, turning away to cough violently. My throat began to itch, a tight, suffocating burn spreading down my windpipe. I leaned against the brick wall of the rest stop, coughing until tears blurred my vision. "Oh my god!" Serena gasped, turning back to glare at the car. "Wright, what is wrong with you? I told you to buy her a drink, and you got mango? Gwen is severely allergic!" Wright leaned out of the driver’s side window, his face a mask of mild annoyance. "I didn't know what to get. I just grabbed two of those mango matcha lattes because you liked them." "You idiot," Serena sighed, though her voice lacked any real bite. "You were supposed to get what Gwen likes. Just because you saw me order it once, you thought that’s the only thing on the menu?" I wiped the tears from my eyes. Wright finally got out of the car, walking over to hand me a cheap bottle of water. I took it in silence. I had heard his excuse a thousand times before: "If it’s Gwen, plain water is fine. She’s not like you, Serena. You always make me remember all those complicated, ridiculous orders. It's exhausting." But no matter how exhausting it was, he had remembered hers, hadn't he? The thought settled heavily in my chest. I loved iced lattes too. I used to tease him, asking him to pick one up for me on his way home. But he was always too tired. Too lazy to open the app, too lazy to check the ingredients to make sure there was no cross-contamination with mango. He would promise to remember, and then immediately forget. He’d sit on the couch, staring at his phone, already mid-game in a match, without looking up. "Water is healthier anyway," he’d say. "Who actually memorizes those complicated drink orders?" I had ordered the exact same drink in front of him dozens of times. Yet, it couldn't compete with a casual glance he’d given Serena’s cup when he picked us up from a movie theater two years ago. Wright and Serena walked ahead of me toward the car. I lingered a step behind, digging through my purse for my medicine. When I looked up, Serena was already buckled into the passenger seat. Our eyes met through the glass. She tapped her forehead, looking sheepish. "Oh, look at my brain. Gwen, come take the front. I’ll hop in the back." "No, it's fine," I said. "Don't worry about it," Wright said at the same exact time. He looked at me in the rearview mirror, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He was used to me making a fuss. Usually, whenever Serena "accidentally" took the passenger seat, I would quietly but firmly ask her to move. But today, it felt entirely pointless. I pulled open the backdoor and slid into the rear seat. Serena turned around in her seat, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Are we telepathic or something? The ski resort you guys picked is literally the exact place I’ve been dying to go. I didn't even know you wanted to go there, Gwen, since you don't even know how to ski." Wright caught my eye in the mirror again as he steered the car onto the highway. "We were originally going to San Diego," he said casually. "But Gwen was worried about getting sunburned, so I switched the booking to Aspen. She said she wanted to learn." Serena listened intently, reaching into the center console to pull out her favorite hand cream, applying it with practiced ease. "San Diego would have been amazing, too. You know how much I love the beach." "Alright, can we get some quiet?" Wright muttered, reaching over to turn on the music. The melody that filled the car was a soft acoustic track—Wright’s morning alarm. My mind drifted back to a year ago, the morning after he had finally agreed to this trip. I had woken up early, filled with a jittery, childlike excitement. After turning off his alarm so he could sleep in, a strange, quiet impulse had driven me to open his phone. Serena had sent him a barrage of texts the night before, complaining about her job. I scrolled through them, my fingers freezing on the screen. "I need a vacation so bad. I want to go to the beach. Pleeease." "Wright, if you guys go to the coast, you have to bring me along!" Wright’s reply had been instant: "Sure." I had stared at those messages for ten minutes, my eyes burning, before locking the phone and putting it back. When Wright finally woke up and wrapped his arms around me from behind, I had kept my voice light, pretending it was a passing thought. "Hey, let's not go to the beach for our trip. You always say I burn too easily anyway." At the time, I told myself I didn't mind Serena coming along. We had all known each other for over a decade. But why did the destination have to be the exact one she had begged him for? Wright hadn't hesitated. He kissed my cheek. "Sure. Let's go skiing instead. I'll teach you." Sitting in the backseat now, the memory made me laugh out loud. Wright glanced back. "What's funny?" "Nothing," I said, shaking my head. I was just laughing at how naive I had been a year ago. I had genuinely believed he was changing for me. I had ignored the fact that I didn't care for the cold, and that I had absolutely no interest in skiing. I unlocked my phone, opened my airline app, and booked a one-way ticket to a completely different city. This time, I was going somewhere I actually wanted to go. We checked into a cozy mountain lodge. We were supposed to hit the slopes tomorrow, but I had already decided I wasn't going up. I only took my personal duffel bag out of the trunk, leaving my rented ski gear untouched in the back of the SUV. Wright stopped, his brow furrowing with a rare moment of perception. "Why are you leaving your ski gear?" "Just forgot it," I said dismissively. I didn't turn back to grab it, breaking the years of habit where I would have rushed to correct my mistake. I keyed into the suite. A moment later, Wright walked in, carrying my bag. He watched me crouch down to unzip my suitcase. "Are you mad?" he asked, stepping closer. I didn't look up. "No." He reached down, pulling me up by my wrists and folding me into his arms. Wright’s chest was always warm. He had a way of hugging me that made all my anger feel foolish, dissolving my defenses before I could even voice them. When we were kids, I had only ever seen him as an older brother figure. But then, the summer after freshman year of college, he had chased off a guy who was stalking me. He had held me in his arms afterward, whispering that I was safe, and my heart had beaten so hard I thought it would burst. Now, pressed against his chest, my pulse was entirely, chillingly flat. Wright chuckled softly. "You're jealous, aren't you? Because I brought Serena along?" "I only brought her because she's your best friend, Gwen. Otherwise, I wouldn't even look her way." He cupped my face, leaning down to press a few light kisses on my forehead. "Serena told me you were getting sensitive about things lately. I didn't believe her, but I guess she was right." His laugh felt like a dull needle pricking at my chest. Before I could pull away, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, read the screen, and sighed with mild exasperation. "Serena forgot her hand warmers. I'm going to drop some off for her." He bent down, unzipped my suitcase, grabbed the large bulk pack of HotHands I had packed, and walked out the door to the room next door. I looked down at the empty corner of my suitcase, where only two stray packets remained. A sudden chill settled over me. I remembered a night a few months ago when I was in the shower and realized I had forgotten my towel. Wright was sitting right outside the bathroom door, but when I called out to him, he told me he was too comfortable on the couch to get up. Now, walking ten steps down the hallway to Serena's room didn't even warrant a second thought. He didn't come back for two hours. By the time the door clicked open, I had already turned my back to his side of the bed, pretending to be fast asleep. When I opened my eyes the next morning, Wright was already dressed in his winter gear. He was standing by the vanity, carefully zipping up Serena’s jacket. "Keep it zipped to the top," he was saying softly. "The wind is brutal today." Serena giggled, sticking her tongue out at him. I sat up in bed, taking in the scene. "You guys go ahead," I said, my voice dry. "I'm staying here today." Looking at the easy, quiet intimacy between them, I knew my presence would only be an anchor. "Gwen, you're awake!" Serena said, blinking innocently. She nudged Wright’s arm. "Gwen's talking to you. Say something." Wright smiled, his eyes lingering on Serena. "She's not like you. She doesn't need to be coddled to get out of bed." He turned to me, his tone shifting to a casual, business-like note. "I wanted to let you sleep in, but I forgot to set an alarm to wake you. Go wash up quickly, we're about to head out." He grabbed his gloves. "Serena and I will go start the car. We'll wait for you downstairs." I stood up and walked to the window. Down in the parking lot, Serena was walking ahead of him, turning back every few steps to laugh at something he said. Wright was replying, his face animated—a stark contrast to the quiet, monosyllabic hums he usually gave me. They had always had so much to talk about. I didn't care for video games, and I despised extreme sports. I couldn't join him when he went cave diving, skiing, or skydiving. But for the ten years we had been together, I hadn't thought that was a death sentence for us. I believed couples didn't need to be identical to survive. But watching him laugh through the glass, I realized he was happy. A hundred times happier than he ever was sitting on our couch on a Friday night, politely choking down the experimental cocktails I made for him. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Wright asking if I was coming down. I opened our chat. I wanted to type "It's over," but my fingers felt incredibly stiff in the chilly room. Instead, I sent two voice notes. The first: "You guys go ahead. I'm not going." The second: "Wright, we aren't right for each other. Let's break up." He replied with a text: "Okay." And then sent a voice note of his own: "Okay, just hurry up and catch up. We'll wait for you at the lift." He was being lazy again. Out of the two voice notes I sent, he had only tapped the first one to convert it to text. He hadn't even bothered to listen to the second one. He probably assumed the second note was just me telling them to wait for me. He had always been like this. I set the phone down on the nightstand, staring at the ceiling in the quiet room. The hotel phone rang. I picked it up. "Yes, that's correct. I booked a shuttle to the airport." The mountain air was getting to me, and I could feel a low-grade fever starting to burn in my temples. By the time I gathered my things, my head was heavy and swimming. I must have drifted off on the lobby sofa because when I opened my eyes, my phone was lit up with dozens of missed calls. Before I could even process the screen, a shadow fell over me. "Gwen! Why the hell didn't you come up?" Wright stood over me, his face dark with fury. When his eyes landed on the suitcase beside me, his voice rose to a harsh bark. "What kind of stunt are you pulling now?" "Do you have any idea how worried Serena was when she couldn't reach you? She went looking for you, took a bad spill down the slope, and we still haven't found her!" I rubbed my temples, my head throbbing. I looked down at the missed calls. "She never called me—" Before I could finish, Wright slapped the phone out of my hand. It skittered across the tiled floor and slid into the snow just outside the automatic doors. His eyes were like ice. "Gwen, you're throwing a tantrum just because I brought Serena along. And now she's hurt because of your petty jealousy. How can you act so innocent?" "I never realized you were the kind of person who could let her best friend freeze on a mountain just to make a point." My head was pounding so hard I could hear my pulse in my ears. I slowly stood up, walked outside, and retrieved my cold, wet phone from the snow. "If that's what you want to believe," I whispered, "then go ahead." I gripped the handle of my suitcase to leave, but his hand clamped around my wrist like a vice. "You think you're just going to walk away after this? You're coming up the mountain to help find her." Wright was stronger than me, and the fever had sapped whatever strength I had left. I didn't even have a chance to grab my heavy coat before he dragged me out into the biting wind. The search and rescue team was already at the mid-station, but the wind was picking up, turning the afternoon into a blinding whiteout. Wright dragged me along the trail. The only sound was our heavy breathing. He frowned, glancing back at me. "How many of those hand warmers did you use? Why are your hands so hot?" My lips were dry and cracked. "None." He let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Still playing the victim." We walked another hundred yards. The wind howled, reducing visibility to less than a foot. Suddenly, a faint, muffled cry pierced through the roar of the wind. Before I could even register the sound, Wright let go of my hand with a violent shove. "Serena! I'm here!" The snow beneath my boots was fresh and unstable. Lacking any support, I stumbled backward, losing my footing entirely. I slid ten yards down the steep embankment, my back slamming violently against a jagged rock before I stopped. Through the swirling white curtain, I watched Wright lift Serena onto his back. Their figures merged into a single silhouette against the snow. "Where's Gwen?" Serena cried out, her voice muffled by his collar. "Is she okay?" Wright looked back toward the path, but my fallen figure was swallowed by the storm. "Don't worry about her," he shouted over the wind. "You're the one who matters right now." When I woke up, I was lying in a cramped room in the local clinic at the base of the mountain. Serena was sitting by my bedside, her eyes red and swollen as she clutched my hand. "You're finally awake! You scared me to death!" "It's all my fault. There was no service on the mountain, so I couldn't get through to you, and then I slipped. But Wright shouldn't have dragged you up there in that weather!" I stared at the ceiling, letting her voice wash over me until she finally ran out of words. "Gwen? Why aren't you saying anything? Is your throat okay?" "She has nothing to say because she knows she's in the wrong," Wright’s cold voice cut in. He walked into the room carrying a paper bag. "I got you some chicken chowder from the diner downstairs. Gwen, if you had a fever, you could have just stayed at the hotel. Why didn't you just tell us?" "You're an adult. Can you stop acting so childish?" I stared at the paper cup of soup. I didn't have the energy to argue. I took the plastic spoon and stirred the thick liquid. The smell of onions and celery made my stomach turn. Wright let out an irritated sigh. He snatched the spoon from my hand, scooped up a portion, and shoved it toward my mouth. I whipped my head away. "I don't want it. I hate celery." "What are you talking about? You always—" Serena reached out quickly to defuse the tension. "Hey, let me take it—" But her hand clipped the hot cup. The soup spilled, splashing hot liquid across my lap and the white sheets. Wright’s face went pale with panic. "Serena! Are you okay?" Serena welled up with tears, quickly pulling off her soiled jacket and dabbing her hands with a napkin. "I'm fine... it's my fault. I shouldn't have come on this trip." "If I just leave, you guys will stop fighting." She bowed her head slightly to apologize. And that was when I saw it. Deep on the side of her neck, partially hidden by her collar, was a fresh, dark hickey. For a brief second, our eyes met. She didn't look away. The fever in my brain flared into a hot, blinding rage. I lunged forward and slapped her across the face with every ounce of strength I had left. "Gwen!" Before I could even blink, Wright’s hand swung out. A sharp crack echoed through the room as his palm struck my cheek. My head whipped to the side. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, drowning out everything else. Wright gathered Serena in his arms, heading for the door. Before he left, he threw one last look over his shoulder. "You've lost your mind. She's your best friend." I let out a quiet, trembling laugh. My hand pressed against my burning cheek, feeling the dampness of my own tears. My phone buzzed on the bedside table. A notification appeared: "Your train departs in three hours." I closed my eyes. It was time to go.

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