Three Years Made Her Cold Novels & Stories

I sat at the table while my husband finished with my cousin upstairs, and I did the coldest math of my life, and by the end of it I was calm. I got up. I went to the sink. I turned on the tap. I washed my face with cold water, slowly, the way you’d wash a wound, and I looked at my own reflection in the dark kitchen window, the first time I’d seen my own face in three years. Older. Thinner. A stranger. A stranger with steady hands. “Okay,” I told her. Quiet. Almost gentle. “Okay.”

Ah. She remembered. How would it not hurt? If it did not hurt, why would she dedicate half of her life to it? If it did not hurt, which idiot would use half their life to gamble in this winning battle? The reward was just so that he would turn around and look at her. She used three years to force herself to learn about that person’s coldness and heartlessness. She forced herself to acknowledge the truth. She remembered now. She remembered everything. This was so cruel. Did she have to take back her opportunity to become a coward?

Her friend just looks between Virgo and I. “Well at least you’re hot” she says before putting her own headphones in. Virgo snorts. I stare out the window. That’s the problem. People always think dangerous things are easier to survive when they look good. This is going to be a very long three years. And somehow since Thea… three years sounds way too long.

And she cracked. Three years of holding it together. Three years of pretending she was fine, that the rejection hadn't hollowed her out, that she'd rebuilt herself into something whole. Three years of cold showers and cold coffee and colder smiles. Three years of keeping the wolf locked away because the wolf remembered Lucian's scent and cried for it. It all came out at once. A sob that ripped out of her throat, ugly and raw. Her knees buckled.

He wasn't even saying anything. Three years. Three years of her life. Three years of forgiveness. Three years of hope. Three years of loving a man who had never loved her back. "Goodbye, Kier," she said. Then she opened the door and walked out. * * * The door clicked shut behind her. She stood in the hallway for a moment. Her bare feet in her shoes. Her old green coat over her white dress. Her face wet with tears she hadn't even felt falling. The elevator was at the end of the hall. She walked toward it. Each step felt like wading through water. Her legs were heavy. Her chest was heavy. Everything was heavy.

She looked at me, then at her trembling hand held in mine, and whispered, very softly: "I... I want a glass of warm milk. With a little sugar, please." I smiled, the corners of my eyes stinging a little. "Of course. Let's go get it together, okay?" She hesitated for a second, then slowly nodded, and squeezed my hand a little tighter. Just a little. But it was enough. It was the first step, just like my first nod all those years ago. One fragment at a time, we would put her back together again. It wasn't ever easy, and some days the old shadows still creep back — for her, for me, for every one of the kids that walks through the door.

It seeped through the thin rug she had bought with her own pocket money three years ago. The light filtering through the sheer curtains was gray and weak, signaling another overcast morning. Aria pushed the duvet back. The cool morning air brushed against her bare skin, raising goosebumps along her arms. She didn't shiver. She had learned a long time ago that reacting to the cold didn't make it warmer; it just made you more aware of your own discomfort.

Three Years Later It’s hard to believe how much my life has changed. Looking in the mirror today, I hardly recognize the woman staring back at me—confident, poised, and strong. The Alicia who used to cry herself to sleep, broken by betrayal and heartbreak, is a distant memory. In her place stands someone who took that pain and used it to build something powerful.

I felt the heat move up my neck. “She is three years old,” I said. “And she is eating her breakfast. I’m asking you to…” “We’re just talking,” the maid at the counter said. She shrugged one shoulder. It was a completely unbothered gesture. “We’re not doing anything wrong.” The third one … the one who had been bent double laughing … had straightened up and was watching me now with an expression that was careful and evaluating. She wasn’t smiling anymore but she wasn’t conceding anything either.

I shivered. "This is just the beginning; you have three days left."