(Rebecca's POV)
The gravel is white now. My footprints fill in behind me — shallow crescents the snow covers in minutes, like I was never here at all. The wind cuts through the dress. My legs are numb below the knee. The cold stops feeling like cold. It turns into pressure. The mountain pressing down on me with both hands.
My thoughts go slow.
Not foggy — slow. One thought at a time instead of three colliding. The anger is still there but it sits behind glass. I can see it. I can't feel the heat. The hurt is there too, tucked behind the anger. And under both, in the slow, cold calm settling into my bones, something hardens.
Whatever happens after tonight. Whatever comes next — the paperwork, the lawyers, the splitting of a life I built with my hands while he watched from across the tab
