Chapter 11 Mia
Mia
Ican’t stop crying.
The adrenaline has long since worn off, and the reality of what I did crashes down on me like an avalanche. The SUV cuts through the darkness and snow, but I can barely see anything through the blur of tears.
I’m not crying because I regret how I walked away.
I’m crying because it hurt so much that I had to.
Cristiano drives in silence.
He hasn’t said much since I got in the car. I’m grateful. I don’t want comfort right now. I don’t want soothing words or empty promises.
I want the cold to keep stinging my cheeks. I want the silence to wrap around me until I can finally breathe again.
We drive through the snowy back roads of Stowe for fifteen minutes until the SUV turns onto a narrow private lane.
Christmas lights twinkle faintly in the distance. I catch a glimpse of the farmhouse as we approach—a sprawling, rustic-modern home with black shutters and a wraparound porch, flanked by rows of snow-dusted evergreens.
Cristiano slows to a stop. “We’re here.”
I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
He comes around and opens the door for me. The wind hits me hard again. I step out onto the packed snow, boots crunching beneath me.
Cristiano doesn’t push. He doesn’t try to fill the silence. He’s there when I need him, and he’s there when I don’t.
He helps me out of my coat and hangs it by the door.
There’s a fire going in the stone hearth, low and steady, and the lighting is soft. No garish decorations. No towering tree.
“There’s a guest room upstairs.” He nods toward the stairs. “It’s got a view of the fields. Bathroom’s stocked. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He studies me for a moment, his dark eyes warm. “You don’t owe me any words. Just…don’t try to be strong tonight. You already did the hard thing.”
That cracks something inside of me.
“Want to have a drink with me?” he asks.
I look at him, and my eyes fill with tears. “Will it help?”
He shrugs. “If you drink enough, it helps to reduce the pain.”
“Then, yes.”
Cristiano lost his fiancée two years ago in a car accident; he knows all about loss and grief.
He gestures toward the kitchen. “I’ve got bourbon, tequila, and a bottle of something red Katya left last time she visited. She swore it was drinkable.”
“Bourbon.” I wrap my cashmere shawl around my ridiculous red Christmas revenge dress. “Please.”
I follow him into the kitchen and watch him open a cabinet and pull out a Bardstown bourbon. He sets two whiskey tumblers on the counter and pours two fingers each.
“You want to drink here or by the fire?”
“Fire.”
We go back to the living room, where two low armchairs sit angled toward each other. We sit in silence for a while, the flames casting soft amber light across the worn floorboards.
“Katya told me about your fiancée,” I tell him after a while, not because the silence is oppressive but because I want him to know that I know, and that I understand his pain.
Cristiano’s gaze flicks to me. He nods once, a small gesture that carries quiet understanding. I can tell he appreciates the acknowledgment without needing to say anything.
He’s a striking man, with strong features. His hair is darker than Aiden’s, nearly black, matching the deep, steady calm in his eyes, a gift of his Latin heritage. He’s just as tall as Aiden, but broader in the chest and shoulders. He’s a man who trains for strength, not just aesthetics.
And yet, even as I sit here beside him, my mind betrays me with comparisons.
I mock myself.
This isn’t a choice I’m weighing because neither of these men belongs to me.
The truth is, I’m not ready for any man. Not yet. Maybe not for a long while.
I need to belong to myself first.
“She died around Christmas,” he tells me, his voice low, as if he’s not used to saying these words out loud. “That is why I can’t get into the holiday nonsense. I was never big on it, but she was.”
“I’m so sorry, Cristiano.” I think about what he said and chuckle. “Though…after what I just did on Christmas Eve, I’ll probably feel the same way.”
He grins and raises his glass. “We can start our own ‘Fuck Christmas’ club.”
I laugh, and then it turns into a sob.
The funny moment passes, and all I feel is pain.
I left my husband.
My husband left me.
It’s over.
“The thing with grief, Mia,”—Cristiano holds my gaze—“it’s not neatly packaged and has no expiration date. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
My eyes sting again. “I’m just tired of pretending like it doesn’t hurt.”
“Then don’t.”
We fall into silence again. Outside, the wind howls across the Vermont hills, but inside, by the fire, something inside me begins—just barely—to settle.
“Tell me about your fiancée,” I whisper.
“Lily was a nurse.” His eyes are fixed on the fire. “Volunteered to take a holiday shift so her colleague—who had little kids—could stay home. Her car hit black ice on the way to work. She was gone before the ambulance arrived.”
My heart aches for him—because his loss dwarfs mine.
Mine is earned through my poor choices, by ignoring every alarm bell screaming inside me when I married Aiden.
No one could have prevented Cristiano’s loss; it was an accident that stole so much.
“We were planning a spring wedding.” He finally looks at me, and on his face, I see the echo of grief and the struggle to make peace with his pain. “It’s part of me now. Doesn’t mean it has to own me. And it doesn’t mean I can’t find joy again.”
A long pause.
“I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for six years,” I admit.
“And now you’re exhaling,” he replies gently.
“Yes.”
I let the bourbon burn its way down my throat, then lean back in the chair, the warmth from the fire starting to seep into my bones. I feel the tightness in my chest loosen, just a little.
“I didn’t expect to feel safe tonight,” I concede.
“I know. But you are.”
The guest room is simple. A wide bed with a navy quilt. A reading chair in the corner with a knit throw. A window that frames the moonlit stretch of the snowy pasture beyond.
I sit on the edge of the bed and finally let the full-body sobs shake through me. Not just for what I left behind, but for everything I gave that no one ever gave back. The loyalty. The affection. The trust.
I cry until I’m empty.
I check my phone. It’s been on mute.
There are fifteen missed calls from Aiden. Two from Edith. One from Nelson. There are several text messages, all of which I don’t read. I block everyone with the last name Winter. I don’t need to talk to any of them.
Aiden can now talk to me only through Katya, my lawyer.
That thought eases my mind because it means I can heal, or at least start the process, without him scraping at my wounds. If he reaches out with apologies, it will split me wide open. If he ignores me, signs the papers, and marries Diana, it will destroy me.
I can’t win this war that I didn’t start, but was dragged into.
I go into the bathroom.
It’s ridiculously modern, a contrast to the rusticity of the farmhouse.
I take a shower. I packed a change of clothes and toiletries in my tote bag. I get ready for bed like I do every night. Brush teeth. Apply serum. Put on moisturizer.
I look at myself in the mirror and see a broken woman.
It’s obvious I’ve been crying.
My heartbreak is etched on my face.
Eventually, I lie down, stare at the ceiling, and listen to the wind outside.
I don’t know what happens next—except that I’m alone.
After she’s home in a couple of days, I’ll go to Katya’s place. She offered to come back earlier, but it’s Christmas, probably Anya’s last.
I’ve already moved most of my clothes into her spare bedroom. I’ll live with her until I’m ready to be alone again.
Katya has warned me that it may take six months for the divorce to be finalized—maybe longer. She’s certain the Winters will fight tooth and nail to keep me from getting half of Aiden’s shares in Winter Financial.
A part of me wants to say “screw it.” I never married him for his family’s money. I never even wanted it.
But the other part—the louder, angrier, still-bleeding part—wants justice. Wants payback. Because my heart isn’t that big, and forgiveness doesn’t come easy when you’ve been gutted by the people you tried so hard to love.
But I know now that these are people who will never learn.
They’ll never grow.
But, by God, they will, for once in their lives, feel the sting of consequences.