A Merry Little Ex-mas

Chapter One - A Holiday Escape

Present Day

For as long as she could remember, Michelle Brown had one tradition every Christmas: vanish.

Not literally—her bills still had to be paid, her emails still answered, and the world didn’t pause just because she wanted it to. But for two weeks every December, Michelle locked the door on the world that celebrated Christmas. Also, on people that demanded her attention, offered unsolicited advice about love, life, or what a woman her age should be doing. For ten years, she had vanished, and it had always worked. Snow, silence, and solitude. That was her peace.

This year, she was leaving earlier than usual.

The breakup with Charles had been the catalyst. “Relationship” felt generous, though—situationship was more accurate. For years, Michelle had kept love casual, enjoyable, convenient. No heartbreak, no expectations, no messy entanglements. But Charles had wanted more. Commitment. Time. Intimacy. Vulnerability. All the things she wasn’t willing to give.

Ending it was necessary. Swift. Efficient. Painful, yes—but she refused to linger in regret. She had packed her essentials, booked her cabin in a quiet mountain town, and planned her escape with precision. Earlier than usual, because she needed the distance. Needed the snow. Needed herself.

Love made you blind.

Trust made you foolish.

And giving someone a chance in your heart...only gave them the chance to hurt you.

She kept reminding herself.

This had been her mantra for the past ten years.

She checked her bag one last time: essentials, work portfolio, favorite book, journal, a thick scarf she loved. Paris applications. She had applied for a stylist position at a high-end fashion house, and getting it would change everything. Big city, big opportunity, creative freedom, a chance to prove herself. She allowed herself a small thrill at the thought. The New Year had never looked so promising.

She inhaled the crisp, cold air through the slightly cracked window of her car as she drove. It smelled faintly of pine, clean snow, and promise. It made her chest ache with longing for something she couldn’t quite name—freedom, maybe. Solitude. Relief.

Michelle glanced in the rearview mirror and caught her own reflection: pale face, tense jaw, eyes bright with resolve. Another year, another Christmas spent alone.

She forced herself to relax her grip on the wheel, to remember why she had come. This was for her. Not for anyone else. Not for Charles, not for past regrets, not even for Jeremiah Carter—the name she hadn’t allowed herself to think of in years.

She shook her head. Not now. Not ever. This is for me.

As the road curved upward, night fell faster than she expected. Snow fell in heavy sheets, blurring the edges of the world into a soft gray haze. The headlights cut ribbons through the storm, but visibility was fading, and each turn felt steeper than the last.

Her phone buzzed.

Another text from Charles:

Are you sure about this?

Michelle didn’t answer. She never did when she was leaving. Messages could wait; people could wait. She had no time or energy for reminders of what she had walked away from. Her freedom was worth more than any apology or explanation.

Minutes stretched, her car moving slower and slower through the heavy snowfall. Then came the flashing lights of officers on the road ahead. Michelle eased to a stop. A man in reflective gear stepped forward, waving her down.

“Turn back!” he shouted over the wind, torch raised. “The storm is too dangerous—roads are blocked ahead!”

She swallowed hard. “I… I’ve come too far,” she said, her voice lost in the howl of the wind. “I just need to make it a little farther. Please.”

The officer shook his head, frustration etched on his face. “It’s not safe. You’ll get stranded. Go back. Now.”

Michelle nodded politely but shook her head as she drove on. She had already left the safety of the city. She couldn’t turn back now. This was her escape—her tradition—and she wouldn’t allow the storm or anyone else to steal it from her.

Hours passed. Snow deepened. The highway became a blur, marked only by faint posts and drifting ice. The darkness pressed in, cold and heavy, and Michelle felt the first flicker of unease. I know these roads. I’ve driven them a hundred times. I can’t be lost.

But she was.

A sharp curve. A patch of ice. Her tires skidded, yanking the wheel out of her hands. A jolt, a grinding impact. She gritted her teeth, trying the engine. Nothing. The car had hit something—or maybe it had slid off the road—and now it sat stranded in the snow, motionless.

Michelle’s heart pounded. She cursed under her breath, grabbing her suitcase from the back seat. Her hands were already numb, the cold gnawing through her gloves. Each step she took away from the car left her boots sinking into soft, powdery snow.

The wind bit at her cheeks. Her breaths came in quick, visible puffs. Panic stirred faintly at the edges of her resolve, but she pushed it down. It’s just snow. You can handle snow. You’ve handled worse.

And then she saw it.

Through the thick white haze of snow and wind, a small light glowed warmly. Golden. Safe. Against the endless blue-gray of the storm.

Her pulse quickened. Salvation at last!

The cabin stood alone, as though waiting for her, promising a night of warmth, safety, and quiet. A tiny refuge in the storm.

Michelle tightened her scarf, squared her shoulders, and began walking toward it, pulling her luggage along behind her. Each step sank slightly into the snow, each breath forming clouds that dissolved instantly into the cold.

She didn’t know who—or what—awaited her inside. And she really didn't care.

All she knew was that she had made it this far. And somehow, against the storm, against the dark, the light ahead promised hope.