Page 5 of Frozen Promises

CABIN IN THE SNOWY WOODS

Catalina

Gentle hands nudge me awake, pulling me from my dreamless slumber. Sleeping has been a mercy from reality where everything is crashing down around me. Santiago’s kind face fills my foggy vision. A door opens from the front of the car, bringing in the blast of cold from outside, making me shiver.

“We’re here,” Santiago says gently, holding something out for me.

My jacket. He must’ve grabbed it when I texted him I needed to get away from Elias.

We drove through the night. Santiago and Noah had scheduled a romantic getaway in a cabin in Colorado, but they definitely didn’t expect the extra baggage—mentally or physically.

“Noah just checked the lodge. The owners said they have an extra cabin available. Of course, you’re welcome to stay with us—”

I shake my head before he can say another word. I can’t keep leaning on him after everything I’ve already put him through. “I’ll take the extra cabin,” I whisper, my voice raw and hoarse from crying.

Reaching for the jacket, I slip it on and pull it tightly around myself, as if it might hold me together. Luckily, I think I’ve used up all of my tears. “Santi . . . I’m so sorry for all of this.”

“Oh shush, honey. I’m not going to leave my best friend miserable on Christmas.”

“You know you’re always welcome to celebrate with us,” Noah says from behind Santiago.

He peeks around his husband, holding out a key for me, presumably to my cabin.

At least I’ll have my own space, so I’m not bringing down Santi and Noah.

They’re just being kind, and I will not drag them into the misery pit with me.

“Thank you. I’m just going to head in and rest a little longer.”

Santiago nods understandingly. “Noah and I will check on you later. There’s Wi-Fi, so maybe relax and stream a movie. We’re all going out to dinner tonight, and I’m not taking no for an answer. We’re going to be fucking jolly, even if I have to force you to do it.”

Despite the heaviness weighing on me, a small smile breaks through. Hiding away and wallowing in my emotions would be easy—honestly, it’s all I want to do—but maybe being around people who care about me and want to spend time with me, is what I need.

“Okay,” I say softly. “Dinner sounds good.”

Santiago’s smile widens at my response. Noah steps forward and hands me my keys before motioning toward a cleared, narrow path, winding up a gentle hill. “Your cabin is on the left,” he says warmly. “We’re just next door, so if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to come find us.”

I nod, even though I know I won’t.

Unbuckling myself, I open the door and exit the car.

Snowflakes kiss my eyelashes as my body shivers from the intense chill.

It’s so beautiful here. I’ve always loved a white Christmas, even though it looks different than I visioned.

Elias has always been part of that dream, but thinking about my husband fills me with insurmountable grief.

I push it down, grabbing my bags from Noah.

We walk in silence until we reach the top of the hill. I promise them I’ll be ready for dinner, and then we part ways.

As I step through the door of the cabin, a wave of loneliness washes over me.

Inside, the warmth and beauty of the space momentarily ease the ache in my chest. The cabin is cozy and inviting, blanketed in the quiet hush of freshly fallen snow.

I stand in a large, open room where soft golden light flickers from a stone fireplace.

The fire crackles gently, heating the room.

Surrounding the hearth are plush, oversized couches draped in thick, knitted blankets and piled high with pillows.

It’s the perfect place to curl up and disappear for a while, which is exactly what I’m looking to do.

To the left, a charming kitchenette occupies one corner of the room.

Wooden cabinets, a small stove, and a tiny round table set for two make it feel quaint and homey.

On the right, a narrow hallway leads to a small bathroom and a bedroom.

The door to the bedroom is slightly ajar, and I see the edge of a large bed covered in flannel sheets and more cozy blankets.

Despite the beauty and warmth around me, a quiet stillness settles. I’m alone and will be alone on Christmas.

I let my bags drop to the ground, exhaustion heavy on my chest. So many emotions and memories run through my mind.

I’ve never been one to keep a diary. I like the thought of it, but maintaining one seems like a burden.

However, the want to document my life is the thing that got me into vlogging.

A space I can freely express myself—at least on the vlogs I decide not to post. It’s an outlet that has helped me in many aspects of my life.

Something I turn to when things get tough, and I need to vent.

With slow strides, I sit on the couch, pulling my phone from my pocket.

A dumb idea comes to me. The type of idea that’s equivalent to drunk texting an ex.

I’ll probably regret it later, but it feels like the right decision in the moment.

Plus, I have no one here to stop me. It’s like the universe telling me to do the stupid thing.

I tap on my favorite social media app and scroll to Live. Propping my phone up on the table in front of me and after making sure I’m in frame, I click the button to begin streaming. The little indicator at the top shows over 500 people have joined, and the chat is popping off.

CatLover93: “Hi.”

XxTonyXx: “Where are you?”

GamerGurl: “Hiiiii.”

I ignore them all.

“Hi beautiful people,” I say, impressed my voice doesn’t crack.

However, my blood-shot eyes, unkempt hair, and puffy face are strong indicators that I’ve been crying.

My followers aren’t dumb. The chat fills with people asking me what’s wrong, and I dig my nails into my thighs to center myself.

I pretend I’m on a video call with my closest friends.

“I built my platform on authenticity, showing you the realness of my life. And the reality is, I haven’t been completely honest with you. Despite the happiness and joy I try to convey in my videos, I’ve been feeling lost and alone for a long time now . . . maybe more than I’m willing to admit.”

As expected, the chat fills with people speculating about what’s going on. Everything from losing a parent or friend to being unhappy in a plus-size body. I roll my eyes at the latter one because the fatphobic people will always find a way to bring my body into the conversation.

“Christmas is my favorite time of year, but this year is hard. Love is hard.” I release a breathy laugh, shaking my head.

“Actually, Christmas can be really . . . weird. It’s beautiful and full of magic for some people and heavy as hell for others.

I don’t think I ever realized it until this year. The magic feels . . . lost.

“People don’t talk enough about how you can love someone and still feel lonely next to them.

Or how things can stop working. Love doesn’t always leave in a big dramatic way.

Sometimes it just . . . fades. Quietly. And that’s fucking hard.

Especially, if you’re still full of love for that person, but it’s killing you inside. ”

I make the mistake of looking down at the comments, reading a few.

BookishLover: “Oh my god, did she leave her husband?”

GymDude1: “The man that married her got his bag and left. Don’t blame him.”

Nessa.23: “Are we supposed to be sad that a rich woman is crying on social media?”

I shouldn’t have looked down. The cruel comments do little to ease the pain, but I can’t stop reading them. It’s like a train wreck happening in slow motion. I should stop talking live on the internet, but I’m desperate for someone—anyone—to hear me.

“I’m not gonna get into all the details.

I know it’s annoying when influencers, especially ones that have put their relationship online, say that, so I am sorry.

But I will say having someone fall out of love with you?

That shit hurts. It’s even worse when it happens around the holidays when everyone else is posting matching pajamas and kissing under the mistletoe. ”

A tear slips out before I can stop it. Apparently, I do have a few more tears to spare.

“This isn’t me looking for pity. I just .

. . I guess I wanted someone to sit with me today.

And maybe remind someone else out there that it’s okay if your Christmas doesn’t look like a Hallmark movie.

You’re not broken. You’re not unlovable.

You’re not alone. I’m sitting right there with you. Thank you for listening.”

This time I ignore the comments as I end the video, cutting the screen to black. A message pops up, asking if I want to share the video on my page. Knowing I’ve done enough damage for one night, I click “no.”

I silence my phone before deciding just to turn it off completely. I’m certain there are discussions about what I meant in my video, but I don’t care what people come up with. I feel purged and vindicated for saying my piece. Maybe my words resonated with someone else spending Christmas alone.

If my words help a single soul, I don’t regret it. Not even a little.