A Winter's Promise of Spring Chapter 2

Leo never changed his number. He had promised me he wouldn't, seven years ago. It was the autumn of 2020. The illness made me perpetually cold, and my vision was failing.

I was walking to the hospital for a check-up, alone. At first, I could still make out the shapes of the sweet autumn blossoms lining the road, the hurried pedestrians, the children with their backpacks. Then, the world went dark, leaving only the lingering fragrance of the flowers.

A kind stranger helped me to a bench. I didn't dare move. The stranger tried calling Leo for me, dialing over a dozen times. No answer.

"You can go," I told them. "Thank you. My husband is probably busy. He'll see the missed calls and come find me. I'll just wait here."

After they left, I sat on that bench from morning until nightfall, terrified that if I moved, Leo would never find me. I just kept waiting.

"Winter!" I turned my head toward the sound, my eyes vacant. The moment he saw them, he knew. I was blind.

"Have you been waiting long?" He covered my eyes with his hands. "I was in meetings all day, I didn't check my phone. It won't happen again." He took my hand, wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and guided me home.

"It won't happen again," he'd repeated. "I've set your number to a priority contact, and I've set my number as the emergency contact on your phone. If you can't see and can't use the screen, just hit the emergency call button." He guided my finger to the button on my phone, and his own phone began to ring. "My number will never change. I'll always be the first person you can reach."

Nothing is forever.

I picked up a discarded walking stick from the Institute's lost and found, borrowed a winter coat from the receptionist, and left.

Walking the streets, the city felt both familiar and alien. The roads were the same, but the storefronts were all different. Then I looked up and saw his face on a massive screen.

Leo. He was still so young. Seven years had barely left a trace on him. In fact, like a fine wine, he had only grown more distinguished with time.

The host was asking him, "Mr. Holub, who are you most grateful to for your incredible success?"

"I have so many people to thank," he said. "My parents, my friends and partners who struggled alongside me. But the person I am most grateful for is my wife." He paused. "My wife, Aurora Bell."

"She has been my silent, unwavering support through it all." On the screen, Leo's smile was as gentle as it was the day he sent me into the cryo-chamber, as if he truly, deeply loved his wife. This woman named Aurora Bell.

"So romantic," a young woman passing by gushed to her friend. "I want a man like that someday."

I stared at the screen, desperately searching his face for any sign that this wasn't him, but there was none. The faint scar above his eyebrow, the mole at the corner of his eye—every detail screamed that it was Leo. I pinched my thigh, hard. The pain was real. This wasn't a dream from my long sleep.

It was all real. Seven years later, Leo Holub had a new love in his life.

Only I was still frozen in the past.

I've always been the one left waiting. When I was five, my mother stroked my hair and said, "Mommy's going to work. I'll bring you back your favorite cotton candy." The cotton candy at the street vendor was bigger than my five-year-old head. I waited excitedly all day, but all I got that evening was my father's slap. My mother had run away. She never came back.

The second time, I was seventeen. My bedridden grandmother suddenly found a burst of energy and promised to make me my favorite eggplant buns the next day. I sat on a stool by the stove, watching her knead the dough and prepare the filling. But the next day, the dough was still dough, the filling still filling. My grandmother had passed away in the night.

The third time is now. I waited in a cryo-chamber, only to find Leo had married someone else.

I wait, only to be abandoned.