March 22–24, 2026.
We ran.
Not forever. Just for a weekend.
Damien booked a small cabin two hours north—secluded, on a quiet lake, no cell service in spots. He told Mia he had a work retreat. I told my parents and Mia I was visiting an old college friend in the city for a girls’ trip.
Lies on top of lies.
But we needed air.
We left Friday after work.
The drive was quiet at first—hands intertwined over the gear shift, snow turning to rain as we headed north.
He glanced at me.
“You okay?”
I nodded. “Better already.”
He squeezed my hand.
The cabin was perfect—wood beams, stone fireplace, big windows overlooking the water. No neighbors in sight.
We dropped our bags inside.
He built a fire while I unpacked groceries.
Then he pulled me onto the rug in front of it.
Kissed me slow.
