Chapter 15
Fifteen
An hour later, I’m trudging up a snow-covered hill, dragging a blue plastic sled behind me.
Tom stops halfway up, packing snow, building a ramp, taking directions from the twins on width and height.
Jules hauls a basket filled with blankets, hot chocolate, and marshmallows.
James walks beside me, pulling more sleds.
Anna is with her grandparents. Margaret practically pushed me out the door, pressing my jacket into my hands and assuring me Anna would be fine.
Mason and Ivy stayed behind, catching up on work.
The sky is that impossibly crisp blue you get after a fresh snowfall, the sun so bright it bounces off the hill in glittering sheets.
The elementary school below sits quietly, its silence a reminder that the world is paused for the holiday.
Families dot the slope at careful distances, waving across the white expanse while navigating both COVID precautions and the chaotic trajectories of flying children.
“When was the last time you went sledding?” James asks.
“The boys try to get us out every year. I think we missed it last year… with everything.” I stop. It’s the first time either of us has acknowledged how last year ended. I take a slow, centering breath before teasing, “I hope your sledding skills are better than your skating.”
James tugs my hat down over my eyes before he says, “We had this perfect hill behind our house growing up. My mom would wrap me in so many layers I could barely bend, then send me flying down it for hours.”
“Your mom sounds lovely.”
“She is. But she swore I shaved years off her life.”
“Leo and Beck are fearless. Wait until you see them hit that jump Tom is building.”
We reach the top of the hill, where Jules is already setting up with military precision, laying out a waterproof blanket and unpacking supplies, pretending not to watch our approach.
“Aunt Syd! Watch this!” Leo calls, positioning his sled at the crest.
With a triumphant cry, he launches himself over the jump Tom built. Beck follows seconds later, veering off course and wiping out in a glorious explosion of snow.
He pops up immediately, shouting, “Awesome! Did you see that?”
“Boys,” Jules mutters fondly. “Only creatures who celebrate pain.”
“I don’t know,” James says, eyes glinting with mischief. “That looked pretty fun to me.”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those adults who reverts to a nine-year-old the second it snows.”
“Guilty as charged.” He positions his sled at the edge. “Race you down?”
“You’re on.”
Jules catches my eye with a look I pointedly ignore.
We line up our sleds side by side, the boys counting down with exaggerated enthusiasm. At “Go,” we push off, speeding down the pristine hillside. The cold air whips past, stinging my cheeks, but all I can focus on is James beside me and how his laugh carries over the snow.
He hits the jump, catching impressive air before landing smoothly. I’m not so lucky. My trajectory is off, and I hit the edge of the jump, sending my sled into a wild spin before tipping over. I tumble into a snowbank, snow flying up around me.
Before I can even catch my breath, James is there, kneeling beside me. “You good?”
“Show-off,” I mutter, brushing snow from my face.
“Jealous of my sledding dominance?”
“As if.” I scoop a handful of snow and fling it toward him, but he catches my wrist as gently as he did that night in the sunroom.
For a heartbeat, we stare at each other, our faces inches apart.
His eyes, in the bright morning light, shine as green as summer leaves, searching mine with a look so endearing that when I open my mouth, I laugh so hard I snort. The loud, horribly unattractive sound that escapes only when I’m genuinely, truly happy.
“I’ve been wondering how I could hear that sound again.” James smiles, brushing snow off my face.
With my free hand, I grab a handful of snow and shove it down the back of his jacket.
He jumps up, pulling his layers away from his body. “You'd better run, or I can’t say what I might do in response.” Mirth shines in his eyes.
We spend the next hour racing down the hill in various combinations—sometimes competing against each other, sometimes with the boys, once with Jules insisting on riding toboggan-style with all of us piled onto one large sled, resulting in a spectacular crash that leaves us all rolling in the snow with laughter.
As the morning wears on, the boys’ energy flags. We gather around Jules’s blanket, passing the thermos of hot chocolate.
“Best day ever,” Leo announces solemnly, his cheeks rosy from cold and excitement.
“Seconded.” James raises his cup in a mock toast.
Jules checks her watch. “As much as I wish we could stay, Grandma needs help with dinner.”
Begrudgingly, we pack up. With the boys running ahead with Tom, Jules falls in beside me, while James stays behind, rummaging in his backpack.
“Are we still pretending nothing is going on between you two?”
My head jerks up. “Jules—”
“Don’t Jules me.” She holds up her hands. “I’m saying what I see. I’ve never once seen you look at my brother the way you spent the last hour looking at James.”
“You need to get your eyes checked.”
She studies me for a long moment. “Okay, Syd. Keep lying if you need to. But this was one of the only times all week you looked like you. Not the tired mom version, but Sydney Wallis, the woman I know. The one who glows like she’s lit from the inside.
You want to know the other time? The sunroom. Dancing.”
She squeezes my arm gently before jogging ahead to catch up with Tom and the boys.
I trudge alone to the cars, holding tight to the warmth still burning in my chest. James comes up beside me and hands me a small bag.
“It’s for Anna. I saw it yesterday and thought of her.”
My heart twists as I take the small package. Nestled inside is the softest little ladybug, its hazel eyes lined with thin golden rings.
“The eyes,” I whisper, not realizing the words had escaped.
“Same color as hers.” He pauses. “Exactly like yours.”
Warmth floods my cheeks, and I can’t help but wonder if my eyes are flashing now, the way he described yesterday.
“Why are you giving this to me here?” I finally tear my eyes from the toy.
“Thought it might be best to share when… others weren’t around.”
There’s so much more I want to say. So much I can’t. A fat tear rolls down my cheek. And this is exactly what Jules was talking about. The glow. It’s happening now, spreading through me like light in a place that’s been dark for too long.
I simply say, “Thank you.”
***
Anna’s cries hit me as soon as we step into the cabin.
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Margaret says, looking frazzled, swaying back and forth with my screaming daughter. “She started and won’t stop.”
I take Anna, immediately feeling her body relax against mine.
Her cries soften to hiccups as I bounce her gently, rubbing circles on her back.
But I hear fingers flying across a keyboard at the kitchen island, the sound rhythmic and unbothered.
When I peek through the doorway, it’s Mason.
Earbuds in. Absorbed in whatever he’s writing.
“Did you ask Mason to help?”
Margaret’s pause is longer than it should be. “He said he couldn’t be interrupted.”
“How long was she crying?” I ask, my voice tight.
“Twenty minutes, maybe more. I tried everything. A bottle, diaper, walking around the cabin.” Margaret sinks into the sectional. “I’m sorry, Sydney.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
Anna’s breathing finally evens out against my shoulder, her tiny fist curling around a strand of my hair.
“She just needed her mama.” Margaret looks relieved.
Beneath the tenuous calm, I’m caught between the warmth of the sledding adventure, the ladybug tucked in my bag, and the growing fury I feel at Mason typing away.
He finally pulls his earbuds out when he sees me glowering from the doorway. “Do you need something?”
“No, Mason. I don’t need a damn thing from you. Though our daughter needed some comfort, something you might have been able to offer.”
“Don’t start with me, my mother was handling it. Anna was crying. It’s what babies do.”
“Do you hear yourself? I thought you wanted to be a dad. It’s like your life hasn’t shifted at all with Anna around.”
“Oh no. It’s shifted. I have a wife who’s decided she no longer wants a career. Most of the time, she can’t even get out of sweats before dinner. And still hasn’t lost her baby weight.”
“Fuck you.”
I storm past the dining room and frozen expressions on Jules, Tom, and James’s faces. They heard everything.
“Jesus Christ. I can’t just pretend I didn’t hear him say that.” Jules says as I take the stairs as fast as possible.
Shame burns hot in my cheeks, not because of what I said, but because they witnessed how little he cares. I don’t stop until we’re in our room.
After laying Anna in her crib, I grab the ladybug from my bag. My fingers tremble as I clutch it to my chest and stare out into the mountains.
The door opens.
“Where’d that come from?” Mason gestures to the ladybug.
I ignore his question and go about putting away Anna’s things.
“Syd, what was that downstairs? Jules just reamed me out.”
“I’m tired, Mason. I’m tired of doing this on my own. The ninety minutes I went sledding today were the most time I’ve had away from Anna in four months. I’ve counted how many minutes you’ve spent with her since we got here. Want to take a guess?”
“My parents are around. They love helping take care of her.” He shrugs like that explanation should satisfy me.
“Twenty-three minutes,” I say flatly. “That includes carrying her in when we arrived. And it’s not just this week I’m talking about. You do not help. Ever.”
“You’re on maternity leave.” He states it like a legal fact. “That’s what you signed up for. If it’s too much, let’s hire a nanny and get our lives back.”
The air whooshes from my lungs. Rage flares, quick and hot. I fight to keep my voice down so I don’t wake Anna, but what I want is to scream, to let every buried hurt rise and detonate.
“When I found out I was pregnant, you told me you’d be with me every step of the way. And you disappeared. I don’t want a nanny to raise our daughter. I want us to be there for her. Both of us.” My voice shakes. “But you do what you want, when you want. I’m assuming you’re going skiing tomorrow.”
His expression doesn’t change, the same glazed look as someone half-listening to a podcast he can’t skip. “Of course I am. I always go the day after Christmas. Don’t make this a big thing. It’s one day.”
He presses a hand to my cheek. Once, that gesture might have soothed me. Now, it curdles.
The bathroom door shuts behind him, final as a verdict.
Tears fall, no matter how much I try to blink them back. The floor beneath me feels as fragile as a frozen lake at midnight, the surface glassy and beautiful beneath me, cracks spreading with each step. Am I walking toward solid ground or straight into the cold below?