Second Chances in the Snow

4.

Chapter 4: A Step Toward the Past

The morning comes too soon. I wake up to the soft sound of Ben’s voice calling from the living room, followed by the rhythmic thud of his small feet running across the hardwood floors. It’s still early, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, but somehow, this small village is already awake, full of quiet anticipation for another day of snow, family, and fleeting moments of peace.

I stretch, reaching for the edge of the bed to stop myself from falling back into the comfort of sleep. But then I remember. Today feels different. Brian is still here, and though I’d hoped the night before would have offered some clarity, it hasn’t. I glance at the clock on my bedside table—6:45 AM. A small sigh escapes me, but I push it down. There’s work to be done. Breakfast to prepare. A little boy to care for.

I pull on my robe and make my way to the kitchen, trying not to make too much noise, not wanting to wake Brian. I don’t know what it is about him being in the house, but I feel like I’m walking on eggshells. There’s something unspoken between us, and no matter how many times we glance at each other or share a laugh, that underlying tension refuses to dissipate.

In the kitchen, I start brewing coffee, my hands moving on their own. Ben's excited voice echoes from the living room as I hear him on the phone with his cousin. He’s already planning his day, no doubt getting ideas about what new snow-based adventures he’s going to drag Brian into. I can’t help but smile. Ben’s energy is infectious, and it’s one of the things I love most about him.

"Morning, Mom!" Ben bursts through the door, already dressed in his snow gear. His eyes are wide, bright with the promise of a new day. "Can we go sledding today?"

I laugh, shaking my head. “Slow down, buddy. We’ve got to have breakfast first. You’re not going anywhere on an empty stomach.”

“I’ll have pancakes!” Ben exclaims, climbing onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “With extra syrup!”

I ruffle his hair and begin to prepare the pancakes, feeling a slight sense of peace settle over me. At least I know what to do when it comes to Ben. He’s easy to care for, easy to love. But then I hear the familiar creak of the floorboards behind me. Brian.

I try not to stiffen, but it’s hard. His presence is like a magnet, pulling me into an orbit I’ve spent so long trying to escape. When I turn to face him, our eyes meet. There’s something in his gaze, something that feels like an apology, like he’s waiting for me to make the next move.

“Morning,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Coffee’s ready if you want some.”

He smiles, but it’s that slow, deliberate smile I’ve always found so frustrating. “Thanks. I’ll take a cup. How’s Ben?”

“Excited. He wants to go sledding after breakfast,” I reply, not meeting his gaze as I pour the batter onto the hot griddle.

Brian walks to the counter and grabs a mug, his movements easy, familiar. It’s strange to see him in my kitchen again. There was a time when he used to come over every morning, making coffee while I worked, sitting across from me, talking about nothing in particular. It felt like we could just exist together without words sometimes. But now, everything is different. The silence between us hangs heavy, punctuated only by the sound of the sizzling pancakes.

“I’ll be ready after breakfast,” Brian says, his voice a little quieter than usual. He leans against the counter, watching me as I work, but his eyes keep flicking to the window, where snowflakes are falling again, blanketing everything in a fresh layer of white.

I nod, trying to keep my focus. “Okay, sounds good.”

I don’t know what to say next. The weight of our history is pressing in on me, and I can’t shake the feeling that it’s all been leading to this moment. What am I supposed to do with the feelings that still linger between us? Feelings I tried to bury, tried to forget, but they keep surfacing every time I look at him.

Ben, thankfully, saves me from the suffocating silence. He jumps up from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Come on, Mom! Let’s eat faster! I want to go outside!”

I laugh, shaking my head at him. “Alright, alright. Just let me finish cooking, and we’ll eat together.”

Brian chuckles softly, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “He’s got the energy of a thousand snowstorms.”

“Tell me about it,” I reply, pouring the last of the pancakes onto the plate. “He never slows down.”

Brian walks over to the table, setting down his coffee. “It’s good to see him happy,” he says, his voice soft, almost too soft. “He’s grown up so much.”

I look up at him, surprised by the sentiment. Brian’s always been good with words, but this feels different—like there’s more behind it than just a simple observation.

“He has,” I agree, my voice a little shaky. “It’s hard to believe sometimes, how quickly the years go by.”

We sit down at the table together, the three of us, and the conversation flows easily for a while. Ben talks about the sledding hill he’s planning to conquer, and Brian listens patiently, asking questions and offering suggestions. It’s strange, how effortlessly they interact. It’s like nothing’s changed, like the years we spent apart never happened.

But even in the midst of it all, I can’t ignore the pull I feel toward Brian. It’s always been there, simmering beneath the surface, a constant reminder of everything that was left unresolved between us. The way he looks at me, the way his voice softens when he speaks to me—it all tugs at something deep inside.

After breakfast, we bundle up in layers of coats and scarves, heading out into the snow-covered yard. Ben’s practically vibrating with excitement, and Brian keeps pace with him easily, laughing as they run toward the sledding hill. I follow more slowly, my heart pounding in my chest, unsure of what to expect next.

Brian and Ben race to the top of the hill, and I stand at the bottom, watching them. Ben’s laughter rings out, pure and untainted, and I feel a surge of affection for him. He’s my heart, my reason for everything, and I’d do anything to make sure he’s happy.

But as I watch Brian laughing with him, I can’t help but feel a little pang of longing. There was a time when Brian and I shared everything—our dreams, our hopes, even our fears. We were a team. And though we’ve been through so much since then, there’s a part of me that still wonders if that bond is something we could rebuild.

Ben zips down the hill, his cheeks flushed with excitement. He reaches the bottom and turns to look at us, waiting for Brian to follow. Brian’s smile is contagious as he pushes himself off, sliding effortlessly down the hill.

“Your turn, Mom!” Ben shouts, waving his arms.

I laugh, shaking my head. “You go first, sweetie. I’m not as brave as you.”

Brian looks over at me, his expression soft but teasing. “Come on, Jane. Live a little. You used to be the adventurous one.”

I raise an eyebrow, my heart skipping a beat at his words. “That was a long time ago.”

“Maybe it’s time to bring her back,” Brian says with a grin. “Just for today.”

His challenge lingers in the air, and for a moment, I’m frozen. The thought of joining them on the sled feels both thrilling and terrifying. But then I look at Ben, his eyes filled with hope, and I realize this isn’t just about me—it’s about giving him memories, about showing him that life doesn’t have to be all about rules and boundaries. It’s about embracing the joy, even if it means stepping outside my comfort zone.

I nod, finally giving in. “Alright, I’ll do it. But you’re the one who’s going to push me down the hill.”

Brian chuckles, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “Deal.”

We climb to the top together, Ben already halfway down again, shouting encouragements from the bottom. Brian hands me the sled, and I take it, feeling the rush of excitement fill me. For a moment, I feel young again, like the person I used to be—before the divorce, before everything that changed.

“You ready?” Brian asks, his voice low and steady, his eyes locked on mine.

I swallow, my heart racing. “Ready.”