A Winter's Promise of Spring Chapter 1

I fell into a deep sleep that winter, only to awaken in another, seven years later.

Dressed in a hospital gown and a tattered coat borrowed from a nurse, I was wandering the streets like a beggar when I saw him: my husband, giving an interview on a major financial news network.

The reporter asked, "Mr. Holub, looking back on your journey, is there anyone you're most grateful for?"

My husband smiled. "There are many people I have to thank—my parents, the friends who built this company with me. But most of all," he paused, his gaze softening, "I want to thank my wife."

"Aurora Bell."

* * *

"I'm sorry, Ms. Hayes, but with no family member available to cover the subsequent cryogenic preservation fees, the Institute had no choice but to initiate an early reanimation."

I opened my eyes in a haze, assuming thirty years had passed.

That winter, my battle with brain cancer had left me with a shaved head.

"Leo, don't look. I'm hideous."

At the time, medical science had no cure. To save my life, Leo Holub had placed me in a cryo-chamber, signing a thirty-year preservation agreement. He arranged for monthly payments to be made from his account.

He'd said paying monthly would be a way to remember me every month. He signed for thirty years, promising that if he were gone before then, he'd leave his entire estate to continue the payments, enough to keep me preserved until a cure was found. If he was still alive after thirty years, he'd renew for another thirty, and another, until the day they could finally heal me.

"What are you afraid of? You're not hideous," he'd said, gently caressing my cheek. "You always said a shaved head is the ultimate test of beauty. You're just as beautiful now as you've always been."

"Besides," he'd added with a soft smile, "by the time I get to wake you up, I'll probably be a wrinkled old man. You'd better not find me too repulsive then, Winter."

"How long was I in the chamber?"

On the front desk, I saw a business journal. On the cover was Leo, dressed in a tailored black suit, his tie knotted perfectly, leaning casually in an armchair. My Leo. Still so young, so handsome.

"Ms. Hayes, the current date is December 1st, 2027. You entered cryo-sleep on December 25th, 2020. Because the payment for November was not received from the designated account, we chose to reanimate you this month."

"Also," the receptionist added, "we'll need you to settle the outstanding balance for November. The total is fifteen thousand dollars."

Fifteen thousand. That same cursed number. Once, for fifteen thousand dollars, my own father had nearly sold me to an old man. Now, for that same amount, I had lost my only hope for a future.

"Did you try calling my husband?" I asked, confused. "He would have paid."

I used the Institute's public phone and dialed Leo's number from memory.

It connected.

"Leo, it's me. It's Winter," I said, my voice catching in my throat. Seven years, Leo. Though for me it was merely the blink of an eye, for him it had been thousands of real, waking days. My heart ached for him.

"Winter? Summer? I don't know anyone by that name. You got the wrong number, lady!" a gruff, unfamiliar voice with a thick accent grumbled back, laced with irritation.

Did I dial it wrong? I tried again, and again. The same man answered, his voice growing angrier with each call, until he was shouting. "I said you got the wrong number! Are you deaf?"

On my last attempt, the call wouldn't go through. "We're sorry, the number you have dialed has been disconnected." That's when I finally understood.

Leo had changed his number.