9. Nora
— ? —
Nora
Snowed In - Day Three
“I want to show you something.”
Morning light filters through the frost-covered windows. The fire has burned down to embers, and I’m wrapped in every blanket I could find, trying to convince myself to get up and face another day trapped in this house with this man.
Dante is standing in the doorway, holding his phone.
“I don’t want to see anything.”
“I know.” He doesn’t move. “But I need you to see this anyway. Then I’ll leave you alone. I promise.”
Something in his voice makes me sit up. He looks - not broken, exactly. More like someone who’s accepted what’s coming and decided to face it anyway.
“Fine.” I pull the blanket tighter. “What is it?”
He crosses the room. Sits on the edge of the couch, far enough away that we’re not touching, close enough that I can see his phone screen.
It’s a notes app. Dates and details, written in his shorthand.
March 3 - Sophia’s birthday. N called her for two hours. Sounded sad after. Should have asked why. Didn’t.
April 12 - anniversary of Mama’s death. N was quiet at dinner. Shut down when I asked what was wrong. Should have held her. Didn’t.
June - she started that novel again. The one about the woman who leaves her husband. She’s highlighting passages.
I can’t breathe.
“What is this?”
“I started keeping it after the first letter.” His voice is quiet. “When I realized I couldn’t say the words out loud, I thought maybe - maybe if I wrote down what I noticed, I could figure out how to talk about it. How to reach you.”
“Dante-”
“Keep reading.”
I scroll. More dates. More details.
July 15 - she made reservations for our anniversary. Same restaurant as our first date. I could see how much it meant to her. I canceled anyway.
August - she stopped wearing perfume. The one I used to love. I don’t think she realizes I noticed.
September 3 - she reached for me in bed. I pretended to be asleep. I don’t know why I did that. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
The words blur. I realize I’m crying.
“You noticed everything,” I whisper.
“Not everything. But more than you think.”
“Then why-” I look up at him. “Why didn’t you do anything? You saw it happening. You wrote it all down. And you just - watched.”
“Because I thought I could fix it.” His voice cracks. “I thought if I could just get through the next crisis, the next deal, the next quarter - I could come back. I could be present again. I could be the husband you deserved.”
“But you never came back.”
“No.” He takes the phone from my shaking hands. “I kept waiting for the right moment, and the right moment never came, and then-” He stops. Takes a breath. “And then it was too late.”
We sit there. The fire crackles. Snow falls outside.
“I tracked your mother’s death day,” he says softly. “Every year. I tracked Sophia’s birthday, and your favorite book, and the novel you started reading about the woman who leaves. I tracked it all, tesoro, and I still-”
He stops.
Goes still.
“What did you just say?”
His eyes are wide. Confused. “I said I tracked-”
“You called me tesoro.”
The word hangs between us.
“I-” He blinks. “I didn’t realize-”
“You haven’t said it in over a year. And you just said it like-” My voice breaks. “Like it was nothing. Like it was easy.”
“It was easy.” He’s staring at me now, something dawning in his expression. “It’s always been easy. I just - stopped letting myself.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t deserve to. Because I was failing you, and calling you my treasure felt like a lie when I couldn’t even-”
His hand comes up. Brushes the tear from my cheek. His thumb traces along my jaw, so gentle it makes me ache.
“Tesoro,” he whispers.
I close my eyes. Lean into his touch before I can stop myself.
His forehead presses against mine. His breath is warm on my lips. We’re so close that if I tilted my chin, if I just-
“Not like this.”
The words come out cracked. Broken.
I pull back.
“Nora-”
“Not because we’re snowed in.” I’m shaking. Every part of me is shaking. “Not because there’s nowhere else to go. I can’t - I need to know this is real. That it’s not just muscle memory.”
“It’s not-”
“You don’t know that.” I stand up. Put distance between us. “You don’t know what you’d choose if the roads were clear. If you could go back to work, back to your life, back to everything that mattered more than me-”
“Nothing matters more than you.”
“Prove it.” The word comes out harder than I mean it to. “Prove it when you have other options. Prove it when staying isn’t the only choice.”
He stands too. Reaches for me, then stops himself. His hands drop to his sides.
“Then when?” His voice is raw. “When do I get to prove it?”
“When I believe you’d have chosen me even if the roads were clear.”
Silence.
Outside, something rumbles. Distant but unmistakable. The sound of plows.
We both turn toward the window.
Through the frost, headlights are visible on the mountain road. Moving slowly. Getting closer.
“The roads,” I whisper.
“They’re clearing them.”
I look at Dante. He looks at me.
The plows rumble past. The roads will be clear by morning.
And I’m going to leave.
***
Dawn comes gray and cold.
I sign the sale rider on the kitchen counter. Dante’s signature is already there, his handwriting sharp and familiar. My pen hovers over my line.
“You don’t have to sell,” he says quietly. “The house could be yours. I’d sign it over.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Nora-”
“I don’t want to keep something that reminds me of what we lost.” I sign my name. Set down the pen. “The buyer can have it. The books are in my car. I’m done.”
He nods. Doesn’t argue.
My bag is already by the door. My coat is on. There’s nothing left to do but walk out.
“Nora.”
I stop with my hand on the doorknob.
“I’m going to prove it,” he says. “I don’t know how yet. But I’m going to find a way.”
“Dante-”
“You said when the roads were clear. When I had other choices.” His voice is steady. Certain. “I’m going to choose you. Every day. Until you believe me.”
I don’t turn around.
I can’t.
“Goodbye, Dante.”
I open the door and walk to my car.
The engine turns over. The heat blasts on. In my rearview mirror, Dante is standing in the doorway, watching me go.
I drive away first.