When the Calls Back
1299 Words
The first thing Emma noticed was the sound.
Not the wind—there was hardly any of that anymore—but the low, distant hum of movement. Engines far away. Snowplows. Life returning.
She lay still for a moment, eyes open, staring at the pale wooden ceiling of the lodge bedroom. Morning light slipped through the curtains in thin bands, cutting softly across the floor. Everything felt suspended, balanced between what had been and what was about to be.
Beside her, the other side of the bed was empty.
That shouldn’t have unsettled her, she thought. She wasn’t a woman who panicked at small absences. And yet, her chest tightened before her mind could catch up.
She sat up.
From downstairs came quiet sounds—footsteps, a cupboard opening, the soft clink of a mug set down carefully. Familiar. Grounding.
Emma dressed slowly, pulling on thick socks and a sweater, letting the morning take its time. When she stepped into the hallway, the lodge smelled faintly of coffee and pinewood, the kind of scent that lingered even after people left.
Liam stood by the front window, phone in hand, shoulders tense in a way she hadn’t seen since before the storm.
“Morning,” she said gently.
He turned, relief flickering across his face before he masked it. “Morning.”
Something was different. Not wrong—just shifted.
“What is it?” she asked.
“The main road’s open,” he said. “Partially. Enough for traffic.”
There it was.
The thing they’d been avoiding without admitting it.
Emma nodded slowly, walking closer to the window. Outside, fresh tire tracks cut through the snow, evidence that the mountain had loosened its hold.
“So it’s time,” she said.
Liam didn’t answer right away.
“I don’t want to rush you,” he finally said. “Or pressure you. Or pretend this is easy.”
She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Thank you.”
Noah appeared then, bounding down the stairs in mismatched socks, his hair sticking up in every direction.
“Is it true?” he asked, eyes wide. “Are cars moving again?”
Liam crouched to his level. “Some are.”
Noah frowned. “Does that mean people leave?”
Emma felt the question like a small ache.
“Sometimes,” she said carefully.
Noah looked between them, too perceptive for his age. “Do we leave?”
Liam’s jaw tightened. Emma could see how much the answer mattered to him—not just for himself, but for the boy who had already lost too much certainty in his short life.
“We’ll talk about it today,” Liam said. “Together.”
The morning passed quietly, but the quiet had changed.
Breakfast tasted the same, but every bite felt deliberate. Every glance lingered longer than before, as if they were all memorizing details they hadn’t realized were temporary.
Emma stepped outside alone after clearing the table.
The cold air hit her cheeks, sharp and clean. Snow crunched beneath her boots as she walked a short distance from the lodge, far enough to think without being overheard.
Her phone sat heavy in her pocket.
She hadn’t checked it properly yet. She knew what waited there—emails, expectations, reminders of the life she had stepped away from for this holiday. The life she had told herself she was content with.
She pulled it out.
The screen lit up instantly.
Messages stacked one after another. Her editor. A colleague. Her sister. A missed call from her mother.
Reality, knocking politely but persistently.
Emma leaned against the wooden railing and closed her eyes.
She hadn’t planned for this -this feeling of being split in two. One part of her aching to return to the woman she’d been building, the career she’d fought for. Another part terrified of leaving the stillness, the honesty, the fragile but real connection she had found here.
The phone buzzed again.
Her sister.
Emma answered.
“Hey,” she said.
“Finally,” her sister replied, relief clear in her voice. “Are you okay?”
“I am,” Emma said truthfully. “I really am.”
There was a pause. “You sound… different.”
Emma smiled faintly, eyes still closed. “I feel different.”
Her sister didn’t push. She never had. “When are you coming back?”
Emma hesitated. “Soon. I think.”
“Think,” her sister repeated softly.
“I need to figure some things out,” Emma said.
“About work?” her sister asked.
Emma pictured Liam’s steady gaze. Noah’s quiet hope. The way the lodge felt like shelter rather than escape.
“About life,” she said.
When the call ended, Emma stayed where she was, breathing in the cold, letting the truth settle.
She wasn’t afraid of choosing.
She was afraid of choosing wrong.
Inside the lodge, Liam watched her through the window without realizing it. He could tell from the way she stood—still, thoughtful, distant—that something was shifting inside her.
He knew that posture.
It was the same one he’d worn years ago, when he’d realized grief had changed him permanently, and pretending otherwise only delayed the reckoning.
Noah tugged at his sleeve. “Is she sad?”
Liam knelt beside him. “I don’t think so.”
“Then why does she look like that?”
“Because sometimes,” Liam said carefully, “thinking is harder than feeling.”
Noah considered this. “Are you thinking?”
Liam smiled sadly. “All the time.”
Emma came back inside not long after, cheeks flushed from the cold.
“Walk with me later?” she asked Liam quietly, when Noah was distracted with a puzzle.
He nodded without hesitation. “Anytime.”
They left Noah at the lodge in the early afternoon, bundled in blankets with a movie and strict instructions not to open the door for anyone.
The town felt different now awake again, but subdued. People moved cautiously, as if unsure whether the calm would last.
They walked side by side, boots crunching in rhythm, hands brushing occasionally but never quite touching.
“I spoke to my sister,” Emma said after a while.
Liam nodded. “And?”
“And I realized I’ve been running,” she admitted. “Not from work. From the idea that wanting more means admitting what I already have isn’t enough.”
He stopped walking.
Emma turned to face him.
“That scares me,” she continued. “Because I don’t want to wake up one day resenting the life I chose. Or wondering what would have happened if I’d been brave.”
Liam’s voice was quiet. “And what does bravery look like to you?”
Emma looked at him, really looked. “Not pretending this is just a holiday memory.”
His breath caught slightly.
“I don’t want to rush you,” he said again. “I don’t want to make promises I don’t know how to keep.”
“I’m not asking for promises,” Emma said. “I’m asking for honesty.”
He held her gaze. “Then here it is. I don’t know how this works. I don’t know how to balance Noah, my past, my fears, and… you. But I know I don’t want to walk away pretending this didn’t matter.”
Something warm and painful bloomed in her chest.
“That’s enough for now,” she said softly.
They stood there, snow glinting around them, the town breathing quietly at their backs.
Neither reached for the other.
Neither stepped away.
And somewhere deep inside Emma, the question shifted not should I leave? but how do I return without losing this?
- Writer
