Her POV
The snow had started falling just before sunset.
She watched it from the window of the guest room—her room now. It was never the master bedroom, never theirs. That space belonged to him, as closed off as his heart.
Still, she watched the snowflakes dance in the golden light, hoping it might calm the ache that never seemed to leave her chest.
She held the cup of tea in her hands, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. The silence in the house was familiar now—painfully so. No footsteps, no voice, no laughter. Just the ticking of the antique clock in the hall and the hum of loneliness.
She had memorized every corner of this home. The way the curtains shifted when the wind snuck in. The creak in the floorboard outside his door. The scent of his cologne that lingered in the hallway long after he left.
He was out again.
She didn't know where. She never asked. She stopped asking after the third month of marriage, when her questions were met with cold glances or silence sharp enough to cut.
But she still made him dinner. Set a plate aside. Made the tea he liked. Left the lamp on in the living room so he wouldn't return to a dark house.
She loved him. That was the beginning and end of everything.
Even if he hated her.
Even if he only married her out of obligation.
She had been eighteen when she found out about the arrangement. Her mother—quiet, frail, and warm-hearted—had told her the truth in a voice weighed with guilt. "His grandfather owes me a debt," she had said. "And they believe this is how it should be repaid."
She had cried. Not because she didn't want to marry him—she didn't even know him back then—but because deep down, she knew she wouldn't be loved.
She had hoped anyway.
The first time she saw him, he hadn't even looked her in the eye. His suit had been perfect, his face cold and unreadable. She remembered standing beside him at the altar, whispering her vows with trembling lips, while he remained silent until he was told to speak.
She told herself he was just shy. Or angry about the arrangement. That time would change things. That her love would eventually melt the ice.
But time only made it worse.
He avoided her presence. Barely spoke. Gave her curt nods and glances that felt like daggers. And yet, every time he walked through the door, her heart still skipped.
She waited for him like a fool.
She smiled for him even when he never looked.
She whispered "I love you" through the door at night, knowing he wouldn't hear it—or worse, that he would and still not care.
Still, she stayed. Still, she loved.
Because somehow, deep down, she believed he needed her. That if he ever fell, she'd be there to catch him.
But what she hadn't expected… was to fall herself.
And now, as the snow thickened outside, something inside her whispered that her time was running out.
The headaches had started a few days ago. Then the dizziness. The strange taste in her mouth.
And the blood.
She had woken that morning with a tightness in her chest and red staining her hand. It wasn't right. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
She thought of calling him. Just to hear his voice. Just to ask him to come home early, even if he'd get angry. But she knew she wouldn't. She couldn't.
He didn't love her.
She had accepted that.
But she wanted him to know that someone loved him. Desperately.
She reached for her journal and opened it to the first blank page. Her hands trembled as she wrote.
> "If I'm not here tomorrow… I want you to know…
I never blamed you. Not once.
I loved you from the moment I saw you.
And I'll keep loving you until the very last breath."
She stared at the words, her vision blurring.
A sharp pain pierced her stomach. She gasped, dropping the pen, clutching her side. Something inside her screamed that it was too late.
Her body collapsed onto the floor. The cold seeped in through the wood, but she didn't feel it. She could only feel the blood spreading beneath her dress, warm and terrifying.
She had been poisoned.
By who… she didn't know. And in truth, she didn't care.
All she could think about was him.
Would he care when he found her?
Would he cry?
Would he regret never looking at her, never speaking the words she longed to hear?
The world blurred in and out as she dragged herself to the door, down the steps. She didn't want to die in a room that never felt like hers. She wanted to see the snow.
Wanted to die with the sky still open above her.
The wind hit her skin, but she barely noticed. She stumbled through the garden, past the fountain he never sat beside with her, past the roses she once planted hoping he'd smile.
She collapsed into the snow, the cold numbing the pain.
Everything slowed.
She closed her eyes, thinking of him.
Of how she used to watch him from afar before they married. How he looked when he smiled—those rare moments she'd caught through news articles or passing interviews.
He used to smile. Before life hardened him. Before duty weighed on his shoulders.
She wanted to be the one to make him smile again. But she never got the chance.
Snowflakes kissed her skin, delicate and soft.
And then, in the distance, she heard it—his voice.
Calling her name.
Her heart stirred. She opened her eyes, just enough to see his silhouette crashing through the trees.
He found her.
He held her.
And for the first time, she saw his tears.
His voice shook as he begged her to stay, as he said the words she had dreamed of for so long. But it was too late. Her vision was fading. Her lips numb.
Still… she wanted to say it. One last time.
"I… love…"
But darkness took her before she could finish.