Chapter 5: Cast Out Into Winter

He seemed genuinely confused, as if he couldn’t see why I was upset.

His words stung. I wanted to scream, to throw something, but all I could do was sit there, numb.

I’d always known I didn’t belong here—not really. But hearing him say it out loud made it hurt all the more.

I doubted she’d want to share a house with me, the unwanted wife. But I guess love makes people do strange things.

I underestimated them. They were willing to break every rule in town for each other.

The wedding was a grand affair—flowers everywhere, half the county in attendance. I watched from the window, holding Holly close.

She looked so small, standing in the doorway, her voice trembling.

Her lower lip trembled, and I knelt down to wipe her tears away.

It hurt to say it, but I wanted to protect her. I forced a smile, hoping she wouldn’t see how much it cost me.

I told myself to keep my head down, to wait for things to get better. But deep down, I knew nothing would ever be the same.

She spoke with a cold smile, her words sharp as ice. The room was silent, everyone waiting to see what I’d do.

They wouldn’t even look at me. I realized then that I was truly alone.

I kept my voice steady, refusing to let them see me break. I gathered what little dignity I had left and walked away.

I hovered behind her, refilling her milk, pretending not to notice the way the others ignored me.

I knelt beside her, brushing her hair back, whispering promises I wasn’t sure I could keep.

Her voice was loud, echoing off the walls. The room went even quieter, if that was possible.

The words hit me like a slap. Holly’s eyes filled with tears, and I felt my own heart break.

I realized she’d been trying to protect me, keeping the worst of it to herself.

No one said a word. I scooped Holly into my arms and left the room, my head held high.

She buried her face in my shoulder, her small body shaking with sobs. I whispered soothing words, trying to calm us both.

It hit me all at once—I was just a guest, a placeholder, never truly part of the family.

The side apartment was cold and bare, stripped of anything that made it feel like home. I packed our things in silence, leaving behind the little treasures I’d collected over the years.

The days blurred together. No one visited, no one called. Even the maids avoided our door.

She’d grown quieter, her laughter fading. She clung to me, looking for answers I couldn’t give.

Her voice was so small, so hopeful. I wanted to tell her the truth, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I forced a smile, praying she wouldn’t see through me.

She grew up fast, learning to hide her disappointment.

The news spread quickly. Everyone in the house buzzed with excitement, but no one told us directly. I found out from the maid who brought our food.

I remembered the way she held her stomach, the secretive smiles. It all made sense now.

Holly was no longer his priority. She was just a reminder of a past he wanted to forget.

The nights grew colder, our breath visible in the air. I wrapped Holly in every blanket we had, but it wasn’t enough.

She deserved better. I decided to swallow my pride and ask for help.

I knocked on her door, rehearsing my words. Her room was warm, the air thick with the smell of cookies and coffee.

Her room was warm, with all kinds of cookies on the small table. After hearing my request, she sneered coldly:

Her words cut deep, dredging up old shame I thought I’d left behind.

The hot liquid burned my skin, but I bit my lip and didn’t cry. I turned and walked away, head high.

I dropped to my knees, clutching his pant leg. I felt like a child again, begging for scraps.

His touch was gentle, but his eyes were distant. "Don’t worry, Ellie. I’ll take care of it."

He sounded tired, like he just wanted me gone. I nodded and stood up, brushing off my skirt.

His voice was soft, almost loving. I realized then that I was no longer the person he cared about.

It rattled and smoked, making Holly cough. I set it outside, hoping it would at least warm the blankets a little.

She curled up under the covers, shivering. I rubbed her back, whispering stories about spring and sunshine.

Her voice was hopeful, but there was fear in her eyes.

I tried to sound cheerful, but my heart ached. I wanted her to have a place in this family, even if it wasn’t with me.

Her words brought tears to my eyes. I hugged her tighter, wishing I could protect her from everything.

My breath caught. I pulled back to look at her, searching her face for a sign she was joking.

I remembered every scraped knee, every fever, every bedtime story. I couldn’t imagine loving her any less than if she were my own.

It had always been an unspoken rule—never talk about the woman who came before me.

I tried to make my voice playful, hiding the fear in my heart.

She buried her face in my shoulder, her arms tight around my neck. I stroked her hair, fighting back tears.

I wanted to know who had planted this idea in her head.

Her words were soft, hesitant. I felt a pang of jealousy for a woman I’d never met.

I felt a sharp ache in my chest. For the first time, I wondered what kind of woman Robert’s first wife had been.

I tried to imagine her—young, beautiful, loved by everyone. I wondered if I could ever measure up.

The house was tense, everyone walking on eggshells. The maid whispered the news, her eyes wide with gossip.

It made sense, in a twisted way. Robert was always looking for something new.

I wondered if he’d been a different man back then, if grief had made him better—or worse.

I saw it now, in the way he looked at that hidden portrait, the way he avoided Holly’s eyes.

I realized I’d been a replacement, never the real thing. It hurt more than I expected.

He’d lost his way, and we were paying the price.

The house felt colder, emptier, with each passing day.

I rationed what little we had, skipping meals so Holly could eat. She grew thinner, her cheeks hollow.

I dragged Holly through the snow, my hope fading with every step. The main wife wouldn’t even open the door.

Her words echoed in my ears as the nanny shoved us out the door, our bags dumped at our feet.

The car sped away, leaving us standing in the freezing cold, nowhere to go.

The wind cut through us like knives. I wrapped my arms around Holly, trying to shield her from the worst of it.

The church was abandoned, windows boarded up, but it was better than nothing. I tucked Holly into a pew, covering her with my coat.

Her skin burned under my hand. She shivered and moaned, her breaths shallow and quick.

My legs ached, my lungs burned. I screamed for help, but the only answer was the howling wind.

Each step felt like a mile. I stumbled, fell, got back up. I refused to give up.

They turned away, pretending not to see. I wanted to scream at them, to beg, but pride kept me silent.

My tears froze on my cheeks. I rocked her back and forth, whispering prayers I hadn’t said since I was a child.

The memory hit me like a punch. I remembered the helplessness, the fear, the anger at a world that didn’t care.

We were just kids, left to fend for ourselves in a world that chewed us up and spit us out.

I still see his tiny face in my dreams, the way he clung to me, begging me not to let go.

The anger burned hot and bright. I swore I’d never let Holly suffer the way my brother had.

Her hand was cold, her eyes glassy. I felt panic rise in my chest.

I shook her gently, desperate to keep her with me. My voice cracked with fear.

I pressed my ear to her chest, praying for a heartbeat. The world spun around me.

My voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. I rocked her, promising vengeance I wasn’t sure I could deliver.

It was faint at first, then grew louder. Someone was shaking my shoulder, pulling me back from the edge. I blinked, trying to focus, hope flickering in my chest for the first time in days.