Swiss Alps
• Sloane Rivers •
“I’m already at the airport, sir. I just landed,” I said quietly, running a hand through my hair as I exhaled. It was cold as f**k.
“Good. We’ll see you in two days. Enjoy the break,” Mr. Anderson replied before ending the call.
I slipped my phone into my pocket, a sigh escaping me as I glanced around the terminal where people walked in and out.
After a long year of working my ass off—long days in court, longer nights reviewing briefs, a relationship I’d known from the start had no future, and of competing for a Partner position—I had planned to spend Christmas with my mother. I needed it. She needed me.
Until I was included in the mandatory firm-sponsored retreat that happens yearly.
And yes, I was only informed two weeks ago. In their words, “It would help if you’re competing for Partner. I’d advise you show up,”.
Hell, I knew what those words meant. If I didn’t show up the odds of getting the promotion would cut down to nothing and I didn’t care.
All I wanted was to spend Christmas with my mother who was sick.
I had no idea if this would be our last together as painful as it sounds.
She was stable now but I was ready to ditch this retreat.
But my mother had insisted. She begged.
Said she knew she was going to die anyways although it won’t be now and there was no use throwing my career over something I won’t be able to change - her death.
So I came.
I tightened my grip on my suitcase and walked out of the airport. The streets were quiet — a little odd considering Christmas was just next week.
It was different in America. The streets buzzed, everyone was jolly, lights hung everywhere, and at night you could hear choristers practicing carols.
It was soothing.
But they said Switzerland did Christmas better. I was beginning to doubt that — except for the beautiful lights strung across the streets, everything looked dull, snowy, and cold. f*****g cold.
I got into a cab headed for St. Moritz, where the firm had booked my lodge. Arrivals were staggered—some colleagues would arrive tomorrow, others on the official first day of the retreat. Mine was early.
I put on my headset and relaxed into the seat, watching the passing landscape. Zurich Airport to St. Moritz was apparently a two-hour ride, and the first thing on my list was calling Mum to tell her I’d landed safely. I dialed her number. She answered immediately.
Hey, Mama.” I rubbed my brow, pinching the bridge of my nose gently.
“Mein Engel. You’ve arrived?” she asked.
“Yes, Ma. I’m on my way to Moritz,” I muttered, glancing out the window again. She sighed softly.
My mum was German. She’d met my dad in America during college and… well, s**t happened. He got her pregnant and disappeared. I last saw him when I was three.
After that, Mom never moved back to Germany. We visited on holidays, but now she was sick and had to avoid cold places.
“You know I’d have stayed back with you. It would be my first Christmas away from you,” I mumbled and swallowed hard.
“And there will be many more,” she replied gently. “That is how life works.”
I closed my eyes. It hurts.
“How are you, Ma? Do you feel better?” I asked quietly.
I could hear her smiling. “I feel better. Stronger.”
A small relief washed over me, even though I knew it wouldn’t last.
Leukemia was f*****g deadly. Some mornings she had energy, and the rest… were hell.
I swallowed the knot in my throat. “The nurse’s around?”
“Yes, she is. She’s been good company,” Mum said, and I smiled faintly.
We spoke a little longer, about nothing and everything.
Before hanging up, she told me to stay safe. She always did.
We were running out of time. As unfortunate as it was, I knew I was going to lose her eventually — and that was one of the reasons I worked so hard. To give her the best while I still could.
Eventually we arrived in Moritz, and the atmosphere was much better than Zurich.
The driver helped pull out my suitcase, I paid him, and he drove off.
Getting to the resort was easy — it was just in front of me. The building was partially made of glass and it screamed luxury.
I walked in through the entrance, suitcase rolling behind me. A red-haired girl at the reception desk smiled warmly.
“Hi. Welcome to Swiss Alps. How can I help you?”
“Hi. Reservation for Sloane Rivers,” I said. She checked her system for a minute, nodded, and handed me a key.
“Top floor, Room 10. We offer spa services, and there’s a rooftop hot tub if you’d like it.” I returned the smile and headed for the elevator.
As it rose, I allowed myself one small expectation - that the room would at least justify being here.
The elevator pinged on the last floor and slid open.
I stepped out, scanning the door numbers until I found ten.
Holding my breath, I swiped the key.
God, I hated disappointments. Please don’t be one.
I pushed the door open, stepped inside, and looked around.
Oh.
Maybe—just maybe—this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
