Patrick drove north, far from the wreckage, into a town west of the hulking mountains. He charged everything to his Amex: the cabin, cross-country skis, gear and provisions. The cost would be covered by the settlement.
Each morning, he rose at four, brewed coffee and fried eggs, then suited up and strapped on the skis. Each day, he roamed for hours, no set route, no break, returning after dusk, stomach churning. Then he warmed soup and looked at pictures of her as he ate.
After three months, the ski bindings wore out. Only then did he return to their empty house.
This is a heartbreak, Michael. Having just received a snowfall of 10 inches, I can picture every moment here.
Thank you, Shoshauna. I posted this on FB and a couple of Discord groups I’m on, and noted what a great experience it was working with you to whip this into shape. I greatly appreciate it.
Good luck in the snow!
Hope to read more of your stories in the future —–
Heartbreaking a beautiful. Love how this was crafted. That last image is everything.
Thank you Nina!
Heartbreaking, and beautifully written!
Thank you, appreciate it!
I was very moved by this story. Well done!
Thanks so much!
Gosh. Power punch. I was intrigued as to where the story was going. Glad I was confounded. ?
Nicely done.
How to cope with grief! Good story.
Quite impactful and well written.