Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
Waking up to a storm would have been fitting after the night I had.
But the morning dawns clear, crystalline blue, ice glittering on the trees.
Mount Mansfield stands tall, its snow-covered peak gleaming in cruel perfection.
Even with flames crackling in the hearth, the cold seeps into my bones.
Around me, the house hums with life. The family bustles through breakfast, voices overlapping, silverware clinking, laughter floating despite last night’s darkness.
“Syd.” Margaret’s voice pulls me back. “You’re white as a ghost, sweetheart. Are you sick?”
“I didn’t sleep well,” I say softly, not looking up from my plate.
Mason’s eyes bore into me. I feel them without looking up.
“We fought last night,” he says with a theatrical shrug, still wearing yesterday’s wrinkled clothes. “I was a bit of an ass.”
James sets his coffee mug down sharply, his face is a mask of fury, and the force of it knocks the breath from my lungs.
A choked sound rises in my throat as the weight of it all—last night, yesterday—crashes into me.
He doesn’t know what happened, but his gaze cuts straight through me. He sees it was more than just a fight.
Jules clasps my hand. I sit frozen, coffee untouched. Her grip tightens as she feels me trembling. “What happened?”
I shake my head, eyes fixed on my untouched plate. I can’t speak it. Tears threaten, and I blink them back.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Get through breakfast.
“Son, there’s a saying: happy wife, happy life. I find groveling works wonders when I’ve pissed off your mother.” Gary chuckles, leaning across the table to kiss Margaret’s cheek.
Jules straightens and claps once. “Okay, family. We’re going ice skating. We need some fun today, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“Ugh, you know I hate skating,” Mason groans.
“When you’re in the doghouse,” Margaret scolds lightly, “a little effort goes a long way. We all know how much Sydney loves it.”
“Don’t worry, Uncle Mason,” Beck pipes up. “You can’t possibly be worse than James. He was terrible last time.”
“Har, har.” James rolls his eyes, but there’s warmth in his smile. “I’ve been taking lessons, so watch out. I’m basically a threat to the NHL now.”
I do the unforgivable and glance up. Our eyes lock. He took lessons.
“Syd, will you hold my hand? Help keep me upright?” Mason cuts in with that smile, the one that once got him what he wanted. Now it just looks smarmy.
“They have carts. Come on, Bug, let’s get bundled up.”
“Okay, Mom and Ivy, you’re with me, Syd, and Anna,” Jules announces, already clearing plates. “Boys, find your own way.”
“This is great. James, we can scope out the ballroom at the resort. Might be perfect for the reception.” Ivy fluffs her hair with perfectly manicured nails.
She glances at me and smiles. A reminder that, skating lessons, soft looks, and earth-shattering words aside, he’s still hers.
***
The car is barely out of the driveway when Jules snatches the Bluetooth.
“Sorry, Syd, but mom jams aren’t cutting it today. We need something to unleash our inner ice queens.”
I lift a brow. “You mean like Elsa?”
“Please. Elsa wishes she had this energy.”
A beat later, Doja Cat’s “Boss Bitch” blasts through the speakers, bass thumping hard enough to rattle the glove compartment. Jules cranks the volume, tosses her curls, and dances in her seat with wild abandon.
“Woooooo!” Anna squeals from her car seat. Her little arms wave in sync with Jules, a miniature mirror of her aunt. Margaret rolls her eyes but laughs.
“Isn’t this song too much for Anna?” Ivy glances up from her phone, her brows lifting with disapproval.
Jules spins dramatically. “Oh, sorry. I left my Stepford Wives playlist in the trunk. Make sure to spend some time with your new books today. Might help pull the stick out of your ass.”
I bite back a laugh, because honestly? I miss the old Ivy. The Ivy who snuck wine into movies, who cannonballed into the resort pool in a designer dress, who laughed with us.
This watered-down version is a far cry from the woman she was just a few short years ago.
Outside, snowflakes swirl through the morning light as we head toward the rink, Doja Cat still unapologetically raging through the speakers.
I forget about Mason—about what happened, about the choices in front of me.
For these few minutes, I’m just a woman in a car with her daughter, her best friend, and music turned up loud enough to drown out everything else.
Until we park and there he is, a dark cloud hanging at the edge of the lot: Mason.
“Hi, Bug,” he says warmly as we exit the car. “I thought we could all skate together.” His eyes dart to mine, gauging my reaction.
“Sorry, Mase. Go get your skates on. I need to talk to Syd.” Jules sticks a hand up to stop him from coming any closer.
He looks at me, hoping I'll run interference. I let Jules pull me away with a defiant lift to my chin. His head drops, shoulders sag, maybe realizing last night isn’t going to blow over.
Jules’s voice turns uncharacteristically gentle. “I don’t know what happened, but you don’t have to pretend you’re fine with me.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Jules. When I’m ready, I will.” I inhale. Exhale. Repeat. “Let’s just skate. Get Anna on the ice for the first time.”
“I’m here for you. One hundred percent in your corner, you know that, right?”
“Do you mean that? Like no matter what?” I ask, holding my breath. This answer is suddenly the most important answer to all my questions.
“Yes. No matter what.”
I wrap my arm around her and feel a bit of tension release. “Now let’s go bring our Elsa energy to the ice.”
The skating rink stretches before us, an expanse of white nestled in front of the lodge. Children dart across the ice, their laughter carrying in the cold air. Families glide hand in hand, leaving silvery trails in their wake. Festive music blares out of speakers.
Once we’re all on the ice, the group naturally spreads out.
Tom and Jules race ahead with the twins, shouting out challenges to each other. Margaret and Gary move at a leisurely pace, hand in hand. Mason clings to the railing, his skates slipping as he tries to find his footing. Ivy glides gracefully near James, who now moves across the ice with ease.
I can’t help but watch him. He took lessons. My heart constricts as I take him in. His long legs graceful on the ice, the dark green beanie that I’ve always loved—a beacon I keep seeking.
“Mama.” Anna’s soft voice pulls me back to her and her little mittened hand clutching mine.
“You ready?”
Her little legs wobble above the tiny double-bladed skates strapped over her boots. Her cheeks are pink with excitement, eyes wide as saucers as she takes in the glistening rink.
I take a cautious step onto the ice, crouch down so I’m eye level with her, and pull her gently forward. She lets out a squeal—half fear, half delight.
“You’re doing it,” I whisper, more to myself than to her.
We make a slow, careful loop. Her hand grips mine. Her smile never wavers.
“Mama. Fun.”
“Yes, baby. I love ice skating. But it’s okay if you don’t. I’ll never force you.”
On our next pass, Mason notices me watching, and he lets out a short laugh. “Guess it’s been a while since I’ve skated.” He tries to sound casual, but the tension in his shoulders gives him away. His movements are stiff and careful, trying to control something he can’t.
“Want me to grab you a skating cart?” I ask, teasing.
“No. Definitely not. I’ll be fine. It can’t be that different from skiing.”
I nod, but the moment doesn’t pass easily. Mason can’t stand being off-kilter. I hold my breath, almost waiting for his next move.
“Aunt Syd, can you show us a jump?” Leo and Beck skate over. “Please!”
“Well…” I look around to see if anyone is available to hold Anna’s hand. James skates toward us, steady and sure. Ivy sits on the bench, face now in her phone.
“Un J!” she squeals, wobbling from the quick movement before I stabilize her.
I glance at Mason and see his jaw tighten. He heard her. His gaze lands on James’s approaching figure, his posture shifting instantly. His back straightens, arms crossed in front of his chest, like he’s leaning casually against the side rather than gripping for help.
“Syd,” he calls out. “I could use your help. You’re the expert here.” He extends his hand toward me, his smile tight.
“Boys, why don’t you show off? I’ll take my turn later.” I can’t resist turning to James. It might be the dumbest thing with Mason fifteen feet away, but what’s he going to do with the entire family here? I drop my voice low. “Bambi, you’ve improved.”
“Someone once told me all it takes is a few skating lessons.” He winks, gliding to a smooth stop in front of us. “Wanna take a lap with me, Bug?” Anna slips her hand into his secure grasp.
“Syd,” Mason snaps. “You coming?”
I skate toward him and see his outstretched hand, waiting expectantly.
“No, Mason. I’m not,” My voice stays even, calm. My eyes lock on his. “You can’t expect me to flip a switch and pretend last night didn’t happen. Get a cart if you need something to hold on to.”
His face hardens, but I don’t stay for his reaction. All he can do is watch as I push off and leave him behind.
I want to skate toward James and Anna, but I know I can’t. Not yet. Instead, I gather speed and skate for myself. For the girl who found freedom on the ice. For the woman fighting to claim it again.
The ice beneath me feels solid, certain.
“Come on, Aunt Syd! Do a jump!” The boys cheer.
“You know it’s been a while, right?” I laugh, shaking my head.
“Come on!”
The ice calls to something deep in me—the part that remembers joy without fear. Freedom. Fun for the sake of it. Those tiny moments I carved for myself as a little girl, a teen alone in a foreign country.
I pick up speed, cold air slicing my cheeks: swizzles, long glides, muscle memory returning in waves.
I pull out moves from routines I learned as a girl.
I remember how to line up, the instinct to launch myself off the ice.
I start with a single axel and land it smoothly.
I take a lap, center my breath, and line up backward, lifting my back foot and pushing off with my right leg.
My skates cross, my eyes stay up, and the ice welcomes me back: a double axel.
Claps and cheers burst through my haze.
“Aunt Syd, that was awesome! You’re so cool!” Leo shouts while his brother throws his hands in the air.
“Mama!” Anna’s little voice carries.
From the corner of my eye, I glance to where Mason was, but he’s gone. His absence doesn’t surprise me; he only ever shows up for appearances, never for the parts that matter.
“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all week!” I throw my arms in the air and take a bow.
“Will you show us some new moves?” Beck skates forward. He glides into the spin we worked on the last time we were here.
“Anna, are you okay hanging out with Uncle J?” I ask my daughter. I know it’s not even a question worth asking as she gazes up at him.
“I’ve got her. Go have fun,” James says. He keeps Anna’s hand clasped tightly in his as they take another slow lap, her giggles trailing, cutting through the cold like sunlight.
I spend the next thirty minutes skating between the boys and Anna. The rest of the family is outside the rink, sipping warm drinks. Ivy stormed off after James declined to check out the ballroom with her. Mason is still nowhere to be seen.
James skates up with Anna in his arms. “I think she’s wiped. You want some hot chocolate, Bug?”
“P’ease!”
Looking between them, I can’t help myself. I smile. Wide and free. Somehow over the last hour, I went from pretending to actually being okay. And as my smile grows, last night softens and becomes less important.
Because I’m pretty sure my future is standing right here.
“Sydney,” Margaret calls out. “You were marvelous out there.”
I cough, hoping my red cheeks look flushed from the skating. “Thank you. It’s been a while since I’ve skated like that.”
“I’ve seen you skate plenty, but I’ve never seen you do a jump. What’s it called?” She smiles, all motherly affection.
“It’s a double axel. I don’t know if I ever told you I skated competitively until I was thirteen.” Margaret leans against the wall, listening attentively. “I moved and lost my coach, so I gave it up. I wasn’t good enough for the national team or anything.”
“How lucky are you guys?” She says, turning to Leo and Beck. “Your aunt looked like an Olympian out there. She has to be able to help with your hockey skating.”
Anna’s giggles draw my attention. James extends his arms, supporting her as she stretches out like a bird, gliding toward the hot chocolate stand. Her laughter bubbles up, pure and uninhibited.
My eyes track them until I remember myself. Margaret is watching me. She looks away, but not before I catch a flash of something crossing her face. Whatever it is, she tucks it away and smiles broadly.
A hand brushes my arm—Mason. A massive bouquet of expensive flowers in one hand, down on one knee. Performance-ready.
“Syd, I’m so sorry for how I behaved last night. Can you forgive me?”
I look from his face to the people behind him.
His parents’ expectant smiles. Jules’s pinched frown.
James’s unhidden frustration. Tom discreetly moves the boys away.
Mason’s saccharine smile says he thinks this grand gesture can erase last night—or the years I’ve put up with him.
I’m supposed to be a good little wife and say, it’s okay.
He doesn’t even realize I don’t want cut flowers. Never have. There’s something so perverse about giving someone a bouquet—something that will die in a week—as a symbol of love. He doesn’t know that staying, skating with us, would’ve meant more than a thousand roses.
But it doesn’t matter. It’s too little. Far too late.
Because the damage isn’t from last night.
I see it clearly now: Mason hasn’t changed. He’s still the man I married.
The difference… is me.
I’ve changed.
“We should head back,” I say and look beyond Mason to his parents.
Margaret and Gary look away. That's all it takes.
Years of believing I'd found a real family, gone.
They won't protect me. Not from their own son.
I mistook their warmth and easy affection for the kind of family bond that shows up even when it's hard.
Their silence tells me more than their words of affection ever did.
I leave Mason standing there with his flowers, daring him to react.