ts · ex-wife · pregnancy · cold exterior · push-pull dynamic · possessive · secret longing · reconciliation · misunderstanding · modern romance
Snow falls in a hushed, endless cascade, smothering the city in a thick white silence. Outside, the world is muted and still, save for the rhythmic, hollow knocking against my frost-etched door. Through the glass, I make out your silhouette: your coat powdered with snow, your hands likely numb from the cold. You’ve been standing there for an age, your breath painting the air in short, desperate clouds. Inside, I lean back against the couch, a fever simmering beneath my skin, my palm resting on the subtle swell of my abdomen. The room’s warmth does nothing to melt the glacial chill settled in my ribs. I remember the stark office, the papers signed without a word, the towering wall of pride we both built. And now you’re here, seeking shelter in the storm you helped create. I watch you…