A Merry Little Ex-mas

Ten Years Ago The corridor outside Jeremiah Carter’s dorm room smelled faintly of cheap cologne and detergent—familiar, comforting scents Michelle had come to associate with late nights, stolen kisses, and the boy she’d loved for almost four years. Christmas break was only days away. But their anniversary was today. Always what ushered them into the holiday. She clutched the small paper bag tighter as she walked, the edges crinkling softly with every step. Inside was a gift she’d spent weeks planning. A leather watch. Simple. Masculine. Timeless. Engraved on the back: Four years. Always you. Her lips curved into a soft smile, her heart fluttering the way it always did when she thought about him. Four years together. Best friends before lovers. Late-night study sessions fueled by cheap coffee and shared dreams. Plans that stretched far beyond graduation. They were almost done with college. Almost free. Almost at the beginning of the life they’d promised each other. Today was supposed to be special. She stopped in front of his door. Music hummed faintly from inside—not loud, just something low and lazy in the background. Warm light spilled from beneath the doorframe. Good. He was awake. Michelle lifted her hand to knock—then paused. Laughter drifted through the door. A woman’s laugh. Soft. Breathless. Intimate. Her smile faltered. Jeremiah had female friends. She’d never been the jealous type. Trust had always come easily with him. He’d never once given her a reason to doubt him. Still… something about the sound made her chest tighten. It was early. Too early. Who would be with him this early in the morning? She knocked once. No answer. She knocked again, louder. The laughter stopped abruptly. Then came a muffled voice. Jeremiah's. “Just—give me a second.” Her stomach dropped. Why would he need a second? Michelle swallowed, her pulse ticking faster as she reached for the door handle. It wasn’t locked. She pushed the door open. The room was dim, lit only by the bedside lamp. The air was heavy—thick with the unmistakable scent of s*x. Her eyes went straight to the bed. And her world ended. Jeremiah was there. Her Jeremiah. Bare-chested. Sheets tangled around his waist. One hand braced against the mattress as he leaned over— Solange. Their course mate. Beautiful. Confident. Always lingering too long during group projects. Always watching a little too closely. She was naked beneath him, dark hair spread across his pillow, lips parted in shock as the door creaked open. For one suspended, horrifying moment, no one moved. Michelle couldn’t breathe. Her mind rejected what her eyes were seeing. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Jeremiah's head snapped up. “Michelle—” Hearing her name on his lips broke something inside her. She stumbled back, the paper bag slipping from her fingers. It hit the floor with a dull thud, the watch sliding free and skidding across the carpet until it stopped near the foot of the bed. Jeremiah followed her gaze. The color drained from his face. “Michelle, wait—this isn’t—” “Don’t.” Her voice came out thin, fractured. Barely hers. “Don’t say anything.” Solange scrambled for the sheet, clutching it to her chest. Her eyes were wide—but not guilty. Calculated. Michelle didn’t notice that then. All she saw was betrayal carving itself into her memory. “You…” Her throat burned as tears blurred her vision. “On our anniversary?” Jeremiah moved so fast he nearly tripped as he stepped away from the bed. “I swear to you, it’s not what you think.” She laughed—a broken, hysterical sound that scraped her throat raw. “Not what I think?” She gestured helplessly around the room. At the bed. At their naked bodies. At the truth screaming at her from every corner. “Are you saying I imagined this?” “No,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “I’m saying you don’t know the full—” “Stop.” She shook her head, backing toward the door. Her heart felt like it was collapsing in on itself. “Please. Just stop.” Jeremiah reached for her, panic etched deep into his features. “Michelle, please. I didn’t—she came here and I was drunk and—nothing happened the way it looks—” “Jerry…” Solange whispered. Michelle flinched. That was it. Something inside her hardened—slammed shut like a door she would never open again. She didn’t want explanations. Didn’t want excuses. Didn’t want to hear how it wasn’t intentional or meant nothing. All she saw was the man she trusted most standing naked with another woman on the same bed he had taken her virginity in. The same bed she had loved him in. The same bed where they had whispered dreams of forever. “I loved you,” she whispered, the words tearing free. “I loved you so much.” Jeremiah's eyes filled with tears. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.” “Then you wouldn’t have done this.” She turned and walked out. “Michelle!” His voice cracked behind her. “Please—don’t leave like this. Please.” The door slammed shut, the sound echoing down the hallway like a gunshot. She didn’t stop walking until she was outside. Snow drifted softly from the sky, settling into her hair and coat, the campus glowing with Christmas lights that suddenly felt cruel. Cold air burned her lungs, but it couldn’t numb the pain ripping through her chest. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Jeremiah. She didn’t answer. It buzzed again. And again. She turned it off. The world narrowed to the echo of her thoughts—keep going, don’t stop, don’t look back. She barely saw the patch of ice before her foot slid. The fall was violent. Pain exploded through her body as she hit the ground, the breath knocked clean out of her lungs. Her head struck something hard. The world spun, then dimmed. She tried to move. She couldn’t. Warmth spread beneath her coat—wrong, terrifying warmth—and panic finally cut through the shock. “Help,” she whispered, as darkness closed in. --- She woke to harsh white light and the steady beep of a monitor. Her body felt distant. Heavy. As though it no longer fully belonged to her. A doctor stood at the foot of the bed, his expression careful. Too careful. “You’ve been in an accident,” he said gently. “You suffered a concussion and internal injuries. You’re stable now.” Michelle nodded numbly. Then he hesitated. “There’s something else,” he said. “You were pregnant.” The word didn’t make sense at first. Pregnant. She stared at him, blank. She hadn’t known. Hadn’t felt different. Her world had been exams, plans, a future she thought was certain. “I’m sorry,” the doctor continued quietly. “You lost the pregnancy during the trauma.” The room tilted. She turned her face toward the wall as tears slid soundlessly into her hair. “I should also tell you,” he added, voice low, “that due to complications from the injury, future pregnancies may be difficult… possibly unlikely.” Unlikely. The word settled into her bones—cold and permanent. Michelle didn’t cry then. She didn’t scream. She closed her eyes and let the weight of everything she’d lost—love, trust, and a future she never even knew she was carrying—sink deep into her chest. Outside, Christmas lights blinked cheerfully against the falling snow. But there and then, Michelle Brown swore she would never celebrate Christmas again.