Chapter 126
Chapter 126
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It felt like she had been emptied out in an instant, like everything inside her had been crushed into silence. The light went out of Winter’s eyes.
Zac lifted his hand to block her view, his warm palm cupping her cold cheek.
“Don’t look,” he murmured, holding her steady.
But the image wouldn’t go away. Skyla’s arms around Chris kept replaying in her head like a looped nightmare. It flashed, vanished, flashed again, until Winter felt dizzy.
She finally bent forward into Zac’s arm and gagged.
The dry heave pulled tears out of her. Her face went chalk–white, and her eyes turned so red they looked
raw.
Behind the floor–to–ceiling glass, Chris shoved Skyla away the moment she grabbed him. Then, as if sensing something, his dark, piercing gaze swept toward the courtyard, landing on Winter being shielded by Zac.
She was shaking like she might fall apart.
“Chris!” Skyla called, watching him walk away with quick, determined strides.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed his cane still leaning against the table. He had left it behind without thinking, and for a split second it was easy to forget his leg still wasn’t fully healed.
She spun her wheelchair and hurried after him.
Skyla’s eyes narrowed. Winter really showed up. Of course she did. She still couldn’t let go of anything tied to this house.
Zac took one look at Winter and knew what it was. The mild concussion, plus the emotional shock, was hitting her hard. He kept an arm around her and started to guide her away.
If he had known it would get this bad, he never would have brought her here.
But Winter brushed his hand off. Her voice was thin and unsteady. “I can’t just let this go p>
She lifted her eyes to the house she hadn’t properly seen in more than ten years. It had been sealed off
for so long that standing in this yard felt unreal. Now that she was here, she could finally look at it.
The bricks and the window frames still looked familiar, but the house itself seemed older now. Everything about it felt weathered.
Under the covered walkway, faded crayon marks still stained the wall. They were her crayon marks. Back when she used to clutch a crayon and declare she was going to be a famous artist.
The memories came back like an old snapshot.
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Her mom had laughed and called it a mess. Her dad had ruffled her hair and said their Winter would be a real artist one day.
Even the plant in the corner had grown. What used to be a thin little sprig had turned into a full shrub. Tiny white blossoms trembled in the winter wind, like it recognized her and was trying to greet her.
This had been her home.
Winter looked at the treehouse, or what was left of it, and her tears wouldn’t stop.
She was too late.
She couldn’t save the house. She couldn’t save the treehouse either.
Everything she had tried to hold on to, her home, her baby, her life, had slipped right through her fingers.
It had rained last night. The sky had stayed gray all day. The wreckage was soaked through. Every board was heavy with water.
Years of sun and rain had left the wood slick with moss.
Winter stepped forward, her feet landing amidst the ruins. She stepped on a slick patch, her foot sliding back as her body lurched forward.
On the steps, Chris’s expression tightened. He took a sudden step forward, then froze. His hand clenched at his side until his knuckles popped.
Zac grabbed Winter’s arm from behind, his voice urgent. “Winnie. Tell me what you’re looking for. I’ll get
it p>
Winter didn’t seem to hear him. She kept going, one step at a time.
The boards under her feet creaked and groaned. Some were already cracked from the collapse. When she stepped on them, the fractures spread with each creak until the wood finally split.
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Florence
A passionate storyteller who brings emotions to life through her words. When she’s not writing, she finds peace nurturing her garden.