The Night He Left Us in the Snow

Adrian called almost immediately after I left the comment under Lucia’s Instagram post.

“Elena, what do you mean by that?”

“Lucia only posted a Christmas photo, and you had to leave that kind of comment under it? My father, the advisers, and several senior members of the family are waiting. Dinner is about to start. When are you and your father arriving?”

“We’re not coming.”

“You’d better think carefully,” Adrian said. “The Moretti family was supposed to announce our engagement tonight. If you’re going to make everyone wait because I went to take care of Lucia, then maybe there’s no reason to go through with this marriage.”

My father had prepared for that dinner for a long time.

His health had never been good, but he still wore his dark gray suit and the old silver cufflinks he had bought after closing his first major deal. He said the Reed family could not look careless on its first formal visit to the Moretti estate.

He had never liked mafia families, but he had been willing to believe in Adrian.

When the Morettis questioned my background, my father told me not to retreat. He said a man with a spine would know how to protect his fiancée. When Adrian first took over the family’s legitimate business and ran into trouble, my father made introductions for him and gave him trust many others would not have offered.

“Then let’s not continue.”

I said, “Adrian, we’re over.”

In seven years, we had had our share of arguments and cold silences, but I had never truly said those words. I used to believe that as long as he came back and was willing to explain, there would always be something left between us.

This time, I did not want to wait anymore.

Lucia’s voice came through the phone, soft and weak enough for me to hear.

“Adrian, my stomach hurts again. Can you help me upstairs?”

Adrian did not ask why I had suddenly ended things. He did not ask where my father and I were.

“Elena, you said it yourself,” he said. “If it’s over, it’s over. Don’t regret it later.”

I hung up.

Over the next few days, Adrian did not contact me again.

No one from the Moretti family came to ask about us either. Lucia posted something new every day: the Christmas tree, the fireplace, medicine beside her hand, Adrian lowering his head to fix the coat over her shoulders.

I did not like any of them. I did not comment again.

Three days later, I returned to the apartment I had shared with Adrian for seven years.

The gift my father had brought was still in the entryway. Inside was a bottle of whiskey he had kept for twenty years, meant for Adrian after dinner.

My father had said the Morettis valued status, but they also valued gestures. That bottle was his final recognition of Adrian before entrusting his daughter to him.

When the key turned in the door, the living room lights were still off.

Adrian came in smelling of fireplace smoke and Lucia’s jasmine perfume.

“Why are the lights off?”

I did not answer.

He removed his coat and walked toward me, lifting a hand toward my face the way he always did after an argument.

“Still angry?” he asked. “I admit I didn’t handle Christmas Eve well, but Lucia was in serious condition. I couldn’t just leave her.”

Before his hand could touch me, I turned away.

In the past, a kiss, an explanation, or one belated concession would have been enough for me to forgive him. This time, when he came close, all I could see was the black SUV disappearing into the snow.

Adrian withdrew his hand. “You and your father kept the entire Moretti family waiting all night,” he said. “My father was very unhappy. If Lucia hadn’t kept speaking up for you, the engagement would not have been rescheduled this quickly.”

“Rescheduled?”

Adrian took a black-and-gold invitation from his coat and placed it on the coffee table.

“New Year’s Eve. Same estate,” he said. “Don’t be late this time.”

“There’s no need.”

“Hasn’t your father always wanted the Morettis to formally recognize you as my fiancée?” Adrian said. “I’ll call him tomorrow and explain. He values commitment, and he has always believed I would take good care of you. If I speak to him, he’ll understand.”

“Don’t call him.”

“You dragged him into this too?”

“Adrian, I already told you. We’re over.”

“You’re an adult.” His voice lowered. “Saying we’re done once is enough. I didn’t argue with you that night because you were emotional. That doesn’t mean you can keep using this to force me to back down.”

I pushed the invitation back toward him.

“This engagement has nothing to do with me anymore.”