Through the Wind and the Snow

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Phoebe Carter, a girl who loses everything in one day, decides to write a letter to no one. Thomas Langart, a guy with poor anger management got it. But before he can read the letter, he's
distracted by his siblings. Will he be able to make it in time before she kills herself?

Submitted: January 06, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 06, 2018



Gazing out the window, her eyes pursued the one snowflake that was being blown listlessly into the cabin. It slightly touched her nose, adding life to her stolid visage before melting and disappearing altogether. No trace was left; the wetness, it could’ve been from her sniffling because of the cold.

She sighed. The nature was pretty, true, as she pondered at the whiteness of the scene in front of her. The trees, the rocks, the sky…they seemed to all blend perfectly into one another. They sparkled so brightly like crystals when light reflected on them. 

Everything was so pure, so white, so beautiful. So unlike her. 

No, she thought, shaking her head. Nothing would waver her resolve. Nothing could change her decision. Ever.

She closed the window and started writing a letter to no one.


When the curtains call

Is the last of all

When the lights fade out

All the sinners crawl


"One. Two. One. Two. Breath in. Breath out." Thomas inhaled and exhaled vehemently as he listened to Demons by Imagine Dragons, jogging around the neighborhood.

Even on a vacation—he didn't think he was on one, though—in Alaska with the snow starting to fall as the hours of the day dragged on sluggishly, he couldn't relax. The problem with his family business only seemed to increment as all of his siblings had travelled here to deceive and revel themselves in this dream-like state of a temporary period in life.

Thus, he ran. He ran on the dusty road on the trail that circled his hotel and beyond. He ran until he entered the secluded forest with birds chirping on the trees of pines and needles. He ran through creeks and ravines. He ran past the lake that would soon freeze on the surface. He ran to the beat of the song. However, he wasn't running to or from his problems. He couldn't possibly do that when his father—at the age of seventy—finally stepped down and entrusted the company to him. Him, and not to his older brother! But he couldn't do that to his old man, no.

This was just him releasing his stress. He would run until he knocked the last breath out of his life and soul if he could. And, no, he was certainly not an exercise addict. This approach merely soothed him to encapsulate the so-called 'demon' that was crawling inside him and stop it from getting unleashed, breaking loose every time it was so much as successful. He didn't know how long he'd able to fight this toil, but he would continue in this loop of comfort if it denoted that he could think straight and not let emotions cloud his judgement.

He sprinted forward, gaining speed with each step. He threw his head back and spread his arms out, relishing the harsh wind that kept hitting his face.


Don't wanna let you down

But I am hell bound

Though this is all for you

Don't wanna hide the truth


No matter what we breed

We still are made of greed

This is my kingdom come

This is my kingdom come


He felt so alive!

The beating of his heart, the pulsing of his veins, the aching of his muscles… They were all something so rhythmic, constant, and synchronous that he felt that he could only rely on them. It was the only possible solution for his terrible mood to evaporate into the air through his pores. He would defuse his crises later.

He stopped, panting while bending forward with his hands on his knees. And laughed. 


“What’s that?!” Something just poked Thomas’s back. He turned his head frantically to the left and right. “Who’s there?!”

Apparently, his inner demon—aka his rage—was winning again. He thought that this time was pragmatic—like he did with every other time—as he struck out with his fists and feet, twirling round and round himself.

After all, he had a reason to believe that he was being mugged.

He didn’t stop until he found himself on the ground, heaving more heavily and staring into the bright blue sky.

“What the—!” He bounced off the dirt a second after he’d landed. Something had stuck itself into his butt hole. Needless to say, he shifted his weight as far away and as fast from said threat and discomfort as he could. 

“A paper plane written with…a fountain pen?” He scooted closer when the only mismatched object he could see in this beautiful scenery was the harmless, white toy. “What are you doing here?!”

Just when he’d picked the mysterious letter up and was unfolding it, Imagine Dragons was interrupted.

He flipped the plane around, examining it. Then, he shrugged and accepted the call with a tsk.

“Dicky, Tom just clicked his tongue,” his brother, Harry, said. “You made me call him in the middle of his run.”

Thomas sighed, walking his way back to the hotel.

“Harold’s the one who made the call!” Dicky replied, startled. “Dicky did warn Harold, but Harold did it anyway…”

“Richard Langart!”

“Thomas, help Dicky!” The youngest brother wailed. “Harold’s being soooo not cute!”


“What?!” The eldest brother griped. “And why are you siding with him?”

Why THE FRICKING HELL are you calling me?!!!” Thomas yelled in full chafe mode. “And I have ENOUGH individual AUTONOMY to NEVER have to SIDE with ANYBODY!!!

“Oh, oh,” Dicky said in the background, fretting. “Harold just made Thomas mad. Not good. Not good at all…”

“It's urgent,” Harry began uneasily. “The branch in Manhattan just called and it seemed that they still haven’t found a solution to the overflowing guests…”

See? What was the point of being on vacation when he was always needed…Well, technically he was staying at one of their branches in Alaska as a customer to attempt to find ways for improvement. So, resting wasn’t that big of a deal anyway.

First of all, if you are in a quandary about what to do when MY work phone just starts ringing incessantly, don’t you EVER accept any calls!” He seethed. “And second of all, MAKE A DECISION if you do, Harold!You’re the older brother. Jeez!” 

“I-I wouldn’t know one thing about this, Tom.” The eldest swallowed thickly.


"For once, can you guys talk nicely to each other like how any Tom, Dick, and Harry should?" Millicent, Harry's wife, said sleepily. She'd probably just woken up from her afternoon nap . "Why do girls have to always solve problems guys made?"

Thomas stopped what he was doing and waited for his breathing to abate. “Okay. First, I believe there are still some places in our branch in Brooklyn. Second, because of that, tell our shuttle-buses to move all guests there. Lastly, upgrade their rooms for them. Free of charge! For all of them, you get it? As a complimentary. That’ll be how to earn their trust and loyalty.”

“Yay!!!” Dicky clapped loudly. “Thomas’s saved the day again!!!”

"When I get back, I'll fire every staff there," Tom hissed under his breath. 

"Thomas, maybe just retraining them would be sufficient?" Dicky suggested softly. "Thomas should not be too harsh on his employees."

"Dicky, shut up," Thomas ordered. 

He was answered with a whine.

"Unfortunately, Tom-Tom's got Dad's grumpy side," Harry commented airily.

"And you've got to be a philanderer—"

"A womanizer—"

"I prefer the word 'Casanova,'" the eldest said proudly. "I'd say that every man has that kind of spice in them."

“There’s sexiness sprinkled in every flirt,” added Millicent with a purr. “Either way, you’ve got your father’s blood alright.”

Soon, there were slurping noises…of people sucking each other’s faces.

“Oh my Gosh!” Dicky’s voice came through in horror. “Thomas, please hurry up! Dicky do not enjoy being a voyeur! And why do Harold and Millicent have to do it in Dicky and Thomas’s room?!”

“What?!” Thomas briefly shut his eyes tightly. “Just please…don’t use my bed.”


Serendipity Mode. Thomas gazed at the letters engraved in the wood as he mulled over the conversation he’d just had with his siblings.

The hotel was more of an opulent lodge, really, to give its denizens a rustic and homey feeling. Each of their branch would obtain a different style, a different attribute that displayed the characteristic of that town or city.

“I can’t always be there,” he mumbled to himself, “and I can’t do this alone.”

“Thomas!” His younger brother beamed at him. “Thomas is back—Is that for Dicky?!”

“Dicky, what—” Thomas stared at his own hand. How he’d managed to keep hold on the paper plane all this journey back was beyond his comprehension. “Oh, it’s—” he quickly crumpled the paper to fit it into the pocket of his sweatpants, much to his dismay of wanting to maintain its neat condition. “Nothing, Dicky. See?” He flicked his wrists, turning his palms toward and away from himself like a cheerleader without pom-poms.

"Thomas is acting strange." Dicky gave him a sideways wary glance before turning around swiftly and raised his hands dramatically by the side of his head. Then, he stomped back into Serendipity Mode. "If Thomas doesn't want Dicky to interfere that much with Thomas's business, just say so. Dicky understands; Dicky is already twenty-five."

"My point, exactly." Thomas Langart sighed with a heavy heart and followed his brother inside.


"Millicent, Thomas is giving Harold and Dicky the talk," Richard Langart complained to his masked sister-in-law. "Help?"

"How many times have I told you that it's not that kind of talk?" Thomas ruffled the youngest's hair. "C'mon, be a good boy and I'll buy you a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and marshmallows."

"Dicky's all spoiled because of you," Millicent commented, taking the cucumber slices off her eyes and peeling the face mask off while sitting up from Harry's lap. "Honey, have your little talk. I'll go call our boy then have a quick massage."

"Mimi, are you leaving with just that thin bathrobe?" Harry bounced up after her, massaging his wife's shoulders. 

"There's a fireplace." She turned her head and gave him a chaste peck on the lips. "Don't worry; I'll be all warm and cozy and as snug as a bug in a rug." She kissed the back of his hand.

Beside him, Dicky was making a gagging noise and wrapping his hands around his neck.

Thomas shook his head fondly at the scene. 

When they'd arrived into the room, Harry had been in the middle of taking off his thin and white boxer.

"A harried Harry with a hairy chest!!!" Dicky had squealed with his hands over his eyes and hidden behind Thomas to increase the layer of buffers between himself and the indecency in front of him.

"He called me Harry and not Harold!" Harry, who was horror-struck and was torn between putting on a shirt and pulling his boxer down by its hem, suddenly yelled excitedly and almost pounced on the youngest, still with his exposed torso.

"I don't think you should be too thrilled that Dicky called you by your nickname because you're naked," Thomas said drily.

"Doesn't change the fact that he called me that!"

And now Thomas would be lecturing his siblings when he should be working, while Millicent was talking to his nephew and asked about his welfare; while others were probably chilling out or skiing or taking selfies or enjoying the snow or sleeping; while he could be reading that letter (
THE LETTER!); while the world spun on!

"We all know the origin of Serendipity Mode," he began, looking at Harry and Dicky. They nodded in turn. 

For those non-Langarts, long story short, Papa Langart was a womanizer (thus, the trait Harry'd got from) and Mama Langart the First (aka Harry’s mother) would sarcastically said 'Are you going all Serendipity Mode again?' whenever he'd said he was going out because he'd always use the idea of destiny to lure in the women he had an attraction with. That got him an idea to open the hotel business to cover up the affairs he'd been having because…well, what would be better than being the boss and making your employees cowered before you, scared of getting fired if they slipped out about who or where your little secret lied. 

"You can see how I've been trying to erase its reputation of being a love hotel and into a more family friendly environment," Thomas continued. "And I've been trying to raise the rankings of our hotel. Our. However, we’re still not in the same level as other famous hotels, namely Sheraton, Holiday Inn, and the Four Seasons. Do you know why?"

"Thomas had too little time."

"You're approaching the problem the wrong way?"

"Wrong"—he pointed at Dicky then at Harry— "and wrong!"

“Wrong?” the youngest whimpered. Thomas gave him a pitying glance, but quickly cut to the chase.

“I can't do this alone and—”

“But Thomas is not alone!!!” 

He gave Dicky a warning, pinning look. He hoped that would be able to shut his brother up for a while if not more.

“Harry, you’re thirty-eight! Almost forty!” Thomas chided. “You can’t live off the family’s money forever. That is why Father didn’t let you control the business after him!”

Harry bowed his head in shame. “That’s not a job I wanted anyway. I don’t want to do things just because it’s mandatory—”

“And Dicky, you’re twenty-five and still unemployed!”

“Am I?” Cheerfulness gone, Dicky straightened up his spine and clasped his hands tightly together. He was all business-like, Richard seemed to be a more appropriate name to address him. “I may be a mollycoddle, but I'm anything but unemployed."

"True," Harry said, nodding, "he's not. If you're thinking of the trait he's got from Myrick Langart, it definitely is not being jobless."

"Why do I feel like I've been missing something?" Thomas alternated eyeing between his two brothers. "Thirteen years apart and you guys look so, so close."

"We do keep in touch," the eldest stated casually. "You've always been busy being an exemplary figure whether it's a model student, who's the member of the student council, participates in extracurricular activities or just excels academically; or a new, dedicated, fiery entrepreneur, who creates an inspiration to those who have dreams to create a start-up business. And said business doesn't just mean a steakhouse like you own. Not to mention how you think it's a good idea to run another business—and a chain!—Dad’s entrusted to you. And you’ve successfully done all that with only the age thirty-two."

"My plate's full; I get it." Thomas put his hands up in a defensive, placating manner. "But that doesn't explain how you guys seem to know everything about each other. That slightly pissed me off."

"We’ve all had a different mother and that’s the thing, Thomas," answered Richard solemnly. "Harold's protective of me because I'm the youngest and I feel the need to depend on someone. We contact each other once a week, whereas we—as in Thomas and Dicky—rarely see each other. Scratch that, you rarely see anyone anymore and have you any idea how my—or Harold’s, for goodness’ sake—live’s been over the years? Do you think you know everything there is to know about us? No, Thomas, no. You think that we’re here because we’re slacking off, don’t you? That’s no for you again, Thomas.” 

“You remember the last Thanksgiving we had to-ge-ther? At my house? Millie baked a giant turkey?” Harry continued. Thomas nodded. Was he just being patronized? He probably was. That was just last year. Myrick Langart’d just stepped down and he’d taken over the reins of Serendipity Mode and had been very busy picking up his phone every five minutes. His family had been kind enough not to complain, but he knew they were observing him as they all chattered away and clinked their glasses. “And we agreed to spend the—if not Christmas, then New Years together. I even feel bad my son couldn’t make it because he had to audition for some random shizzle”

“I know I value family time, but did I also assent to that?” Okay…that part he couldn’t quite recollect.

“You did,” Richard affirmed, still not being his usual self. “You grunted.”

“Whaaaat?” the second oldest dragged the word, aghast. “Was that supposed to be factious?”

“No, no.”

“Not at all, bro. Not at all.”

“But I—” Thomas face-palmed. “—I wasn’t even fully conscious at the time. N-not that I would object spending time with you guys...”


“We know you have a hectic schedule, but we’ve been having our own battles as well.” Thomas snorted at ‘battles’, but didn’t really nitpick on that. “I’ve been talking to Dicky and, yeah, I’m trying. Not to be a leech, that is.”

“Harry…what did you do?” Thomas asked suspiciously.

It was Richard, who answered, “He’s started working at one of the hotels. Said he wanted to start from the bottom up, really know how things work.”

“I would’ve been delighted to teach you!” Thomas groused, affronted. “And you don’t have to be scared of other staff dissing you—”

“Because Thomas will go green. Hulk all the way!” Dicky giggled, pumping his fist in the air. Well, at least he’d returned to normal.

“I think he’s even scarier than the Hulk.” Harry snickered.

“Fine. Just telling you’re welcome to have my help.” He walked out the door with a sigh, Harry and Dicky still laughing their heads off. “Whatever. Join me for supper when you guys are ready.” 


It was an hour till midnight, till New Year’s Day. His family was all at the hotel lobby, readying for the countdown.

Thomas at last had some time to himself after catching up with his brother with him mostly being the one filled in, of course.

Apparently, Dicky was hired as an art therapist—and a part-time art professor, let’s not forget that— after he’d finished his master’s degree and had some training and earned his state license, which was the reason why he didn’t have a job yet at his age.

He looked out the window, the wind tossing and turning the snowflakes around but no matter what, the snow all ended up accumulating into a great pile outside. Thomas vaguely compared that to humans: how it made no difference to the place they would all end up in despite the uniqueness each person had. 


Wow, what a joyful thought on this very last day of the year! He thought bitterly, then continued watching the heap of frozen water that was probably only a foot or two—not too high—but it was definitely getting a lot colder. The heater was doing its wonder and he felt so warm and just wanted curled up into a ball under the blanket, but for some indescribable reason, his extremities were the only places that seemed to always be freezing. He stuck his hands into his pockets of his sweats—

“Oh,” he exclaimed softly, pulling the rumpled piece of paper out. “I totally forgot.”

Thomas shuffled near his bed and fell into it, ready to enjoy a little light reading. He landed on his stomach, spreading the paper out for it to be more readable. He quickly scanned the text, his eyebrows getting closer and closer to each other, and getting more and more infuriated as his eyes reached toward the end. 

He bounced up and threw on a coat quickly, stuffing the letter sloppily back into his pocket. He then proceeded to run out the room and toward the exit. All thoughts about taking a hot bath were now gone from his mind. “Phoebe-FREAKING-Carter, there’s no helluva way are you dying today! NOT ON MY WATCH!!!

“Hey, Thomas—” Dicky yelled through the loud music and wriggling mass of bodies. Millicent and Harry were dancing—or more like grinding against each other and trying to meld into one another—nearby and didn’t really see Thomas running off. Unfortunately, he was cut off.

“Bye guys!” He grunted, shouting back. “Will. Be. Right back!”


Dear Stranger,

I don’t want to begin this letter with a glum expression, but that’s how I’m feeling right now and I can’t help it. So, please deal with it. 

By the time you’re reading this, my existence must’ve already been the evanescence to this world. Simply put, I’m killing myself by jumping off Mount Blackburn. At midnight. Great name, I know. So, this shall also be the place where I burn. Burn by this hellish fire consuming me whole that is caused by the inner demon that keeps telling me to die, die, DIE! I’m at a dead-end. I’m in despair. My limit ends here.

So, now that the cat’s out of the bag, I shall no longer broach this subject with care. I just lost everything: my family, my work, my house, my boyfriend, my money, everything!!! Ironically, it has to happen a few days before New Year, where people always say that new beginnings and fresh starts would erupt from it. Do you think we’re in a video game and can just press a refresh or restart button? I don’t think so. Can they get any more wrong? They absolutely can. I wish desperately for things to just be like in a movie or book or TV, where the disaster could just magically destroy itself with the change of the scene. (Or a commercial break, I wouldn’t be picky). I wonder why they never show how the protagonist really gets out of trouble when they mess things up because, really, the troubles from the year before can’t just go away with one flick of a hand, one strike of the minute hand, or one lit of a firework.

Anyway, I must tell you first that I know right from the start that my boyfriend only likes me for my fortune and I let him use me because I’m dumb. Yeah, I won’t spout some crazy stuff about loving him yadda yadda yadda because the true reason is dumbness. And I guess all went down from there because the day before I have nothing left, he was planning to transfer every bit of my money into his account. I already bought a car, watches, suits, etc. for him. It’s not enough, I suppose.

Moreover, since I’m an accountant—maybe you’re berating me right at this moment for my poor management of money—but I can’t really say that every month I don’t make ends meet. Because I do, and still have lots to spare.

Surprised, my colleague is his real girlfriend and she framed me for corruption, which my boss immediately believed because she had provided ‘fake’ evidence and she’s the boss’s daughter. (Connections!) There, I lost my job.

I, of course, was very stressed and went…drinking. (Ha!) The boyfriend found me and I, in an inebriated state, merely told him the password for my money. I blame the alcohol. I blame myself. Whatever. With the money transferred, he was gone for good. Two birds with one stone!

And guess what? That day was also the ending period of my apartment lease. I don’t have enough money to pay them! I got kicked out. With no places to go, I started wandering around only to get called by the hospital. 

You see, a few days before, I got a voucher for some hotel in Montana and it’s gonna be expired by the end of this month, so I gave it to my parents because I was too busy. (Too busy!) They got caught snowmobiling in an avalanche. I had this measly amount of cash I’d put in the floorboard of the apartment—certainly, not enough to pay my rent—I had left to travel from Minnesota to West Yellowstone. Guess what? They died. The only people I care about in this world died! Oh, how much I love my fate! (Hope you can detect the sarcasm there.) At least I got a place to crash in at the hospital.

The next day, remembering that my family owns a cabin in Alaska, I travelled there. I had to sell my watch, necklace, earrings, and whatnot, but I guess it was worth it because the holidays I spent there with my family are the times I can never forget. 

Therefore, I hope to die with the fountain pen I refused to sell and the same one I used to write this letter with. It was also the only thing I had with me that was a graduation gift from my mother. 


Phoebe Carter


"Sir, we can't go any further," the cabbie said to Thomas.

"I-it's—" the Langart heir shook his head, stopping himself from thinking about the letter. "—that's fine. Thanks." 

He stumbled out of the car, yelling "Keep the change!" and starting to run up the hill covered in thick mound of snow.

The blizzard went on, smacking violently against his face. He pressed the coat closer to himself, shielding his face.

"Phoebe!" He shouted into the open space. "Phoebe I-wanna-die Carter!!!"

Thomas turned out in circle. It's cold, he suddenly thought and shivered. How can I ever find her here?

He was sure he was going to die here. He would, for sure, if he couldn't find her soon. He tugged up his sleeve, the watch said 11:58. That was if their time was in sync.

"Phoebe!" He tried again. "Phee—"

There, in the distance—if his mind wasn't deceiving him because he wanted to get out of this frigid air—a figure was plodding through snow, pushing herself against the strong wind.


I guess that was a failure, Phoebe mused with resignation. No one's got that paper. No one's going to save me. This is what God wants. Why am I not allowed a second chance?

The crunch, crunch, crunch of her boots toward the cliff made her feel alive as she slowly soaked the truth in. She wasn't scared. This was her situation and she was going to die knowing she'd executed it properly. 

She made it. 

One drop and she’d be done. She observed her surroundings one last time of the town and the nature below, co-existing so well with their imperfections she almost wanted to abort this mission. No. 

The wind blustered even harder through the mountain. She closed her eyes and spread her arms wide. She stopped thinking, letting her imagination lead her away. She could just feel herself flying. One foot left the ground, past over the edge. So close, so close. The other follow—

A hand clasped over her wrist and spun her around.

"Phoebe?" He panted.

She looked at him, bemused. His mussy, brown hair kept flapping at his face. His nose was red, a rosy shade. His mouth almost tinged blue from the, hopefully, short amount of time he’d spent here. His bright, green eyes glared at her forcefully, scolding her of the foolish behavior he would've witnessed. He looked like a rich kid, growing up in an easy environment or someone who was just…rich.


On the way here, Thomas had been wondering what this Phoebe Carter would look like. Would she have black or red hair? Brown or blonde? Purple or other exotic shade? Would she have brown or blue eyes? Green or gray? Something in between? Would she be short or tall? Slim or plump? Freckles or none? Would she be a sassy, badass woman like the letter portrayed her to be? How old even is she?

All those questions flew away from his head once he was absorbing her in. Her straight, blonde hair reached to her collar bones. Her big, brown eyes reflected how earnest and glad she was to see him. She was plain and there was nothing that popped out of that face at all…and yet he didn't care. Not anymore. Not when he felt something inside him clicking into place.

"Who are you?" She asked, raspy. "How did—did you—"

Thomas pulled out the paper, all wrinkled up and tearing in some places, but Phoebe recognized it immediately. Her eyes widened like when an architect recognized his own building or a chef his dish.

"Thomas Langart, designated knight of New Year Patrol for the Phoebe Carter rescue mission." He released his hold on her and bowed gallantly. "Phase one completed. Let Phase Two: Restoration begin!”

"Wh-why?" She wobbled to the stranger and embraced him fiercely, tears that quickly frozen into icicles streamed down her cheeks. "I'm s-so happy. I-I thought I w-was really going to die!"

"I must tell you first that this altruism is not related to virtue." Thomas patted her shoulder. "I felt like I was looking at myself and I was pretty mad, young lady. Other people have harder lives than you—”

"Thomas, do you believe in soulmates?"

Her question caught him off guard but he hastily returned to his sanguine disposition. "I think I just did." He smiled genuinely. "After all, fate has brought us together."

"Not quite." Phoebe leaned back slightly and shoved Thomas into the snow to punctuate her point, laughing. "It was through the wind and the snow that brought us together."

"And I thought I was going to open another hotel branch in Minnesota to hire an accountant." He spit out dirty snow, full of twigs and humus. "Gonna give you the short on workers excuse."

Phoebe rolled her eyes. "Wealthy lads," she sighed.

“I'm also bad with anger management, have an ugly inner demon that I don't know when it's gonna be unleashed, and almost lost my family because I'm always so busy," Thomas enumerated, attempting to gain a purchase on the soft crystalline structure. "Sounds familiar?"

"Not the anger management part—" Phoebe escaped Thomas grasp when he tried to drag her into the snow with him but slipped herself “—No!"


"Can I call you Tommy?" She collapsed beside him.

"Only if you let me call you Pheebs." Thomas jumped to his feet, pulling Phoebe up with him. "Now, let's get to your cabin before we freeze to death, shall we?"

"Let's," agreed Phoebe. "Happy New Year, Tommy."

"Happy New Year, Pheebs."

A/N: Happy belated New Year 2018! I actually almost didn't finish this. Over 5000 words, can you believe it?! A little drama for you there. I thought the siblings would just be a distraction for Thomas to prevent him to read the letter, but I guess I got too carried away. And the Alaska scene is just something I thought it would be like. Sorry if I don't get this right.

© Copyright 2020 UnextraordinaryGirl. All rights reserved.

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