The old couple immediately closed in on me, their hostility palpable.

The old man yanked open the front door. Bitter wind sliced through the entryway.

His wife didn't miss a beat. "Out you go. You're not welcome here."

"Mom, that down jacket you're wearing—I bought it for you. Seven or eight hundred dollars."

Her gaze dropped for just a second before she shot back, "That was my son's money."

Ruth's voice came from behind her, soft and deliberate. "Don't worry. I'll buy you things too. Better things. More expensive."

The old woman's face split into a triumphant smile.

"You heard her. Now get out. I have a daughter-in-law—a real one—and she's about to give me a grandson."

When I didn't move, she shoved me. Hard.

Farm people have strong hands. And hers held nothing back.

I couldn't brace against the force. My feet skidded toward the doorway, one stumbling step after another.

Five years of marriage. And this was how it ended—on the eve of the new year.

My eyes found Ray over his mother's shoulder.

"Ray. Tell me. When did you fall for her?"

Ruth answered instead, her voice dripping with gentle poison. "I'll admit, I gave him a hard time back then. But do you know why?"

I held my breath.

"Because he wrote me ninety-nine love letters. Kept sending them, one after another. I just wasn't ready for a relationship yet."

The past I thought I knew crumbled to ash.

My body began to shake. For ten, maybe fifteen seconds, my mind went completely blank.

So that was it. He'd been writing love letters to Ruth.

While I comforted him through his "heartbreak."

What a fool I'd been.

While I stood there reeling, the old woman shoved me again—harder this time.

I stumbled backward onto the front steps and slid several feet across the icy ground.

Snow drifted down in silence, broken only by the sound of the deadbolt clicking into place.

I picked myself up, brushing snow from my clothes, my dignity in tatters.

At least I still had my car.

I turned on the heater, but the windshield was a blur of white, and the tires spun uselessly on the ice.

No driving tonight. I'd have to make do here.

The gifts I'd brought—all food and drinks—sat untouched in the backseat. At least I wouldn't go hungry.

My heart burned with injustice. But I'd be damned if I didn't take care of myself.

Once I'd eaten my fill, I pulled out my phone.

Almost without thinking, I messaged an old friend I hadn't spoken to in ages.

"You went to school with Ruth Newton, right? Do you remember her?"

The reply came fast: "Ruth Newton is still ALIVE? She didn't die?"

I blinked at the screen. "She's alive. Perfectly fine, as far as I can tell."

The typing indicator pulsed for three full minutes before her response appeared.

"Why are you asking about her?"

Her tone had shifted—serious now. I matched it.

"She's at my house. Planning to spend New Year's with my family."

What followed was an avalanche. Over a dozen voice messages, each one maxed out at sixty seconds.

My stomach dropped. Harper Collins was known for being flighty, never using ten words when two would do. Something was very wrong.

Her voice poured through the speaker, urgent and unrelenting.

"Get her out of there. She has an infectious disease. A serious one."

"With what she has, a common cold could kill her. She's been carrying it for three years—I was there when she got diagnosed at our hospital."

"How could you let her into your home? Are you out of your mind?"

"..."

More messages followed—documents, medical files, detailed records.

But no matter how much she sent, three words burned brightest.

Infectious disease.

A serious one.

I typed back: "Can she still get pregnant?"

The answer came immediately: "Then you're all screwed. It transmits from mother to child. No cure. Ever."

I stared at the files filling my screen.

For a long moment, I couldn't speak. Couldn't decide if this was tragedy or justice.

One thing was clear: based on everything I'd seen that day, Ray and his family had no idea.

A gust of cold wind slashed across my face, and I shuddered—my mind snapping awake.

I threw open the car door and ran back to the Dickersons' house, pounding on the door like a madwoman.

It cracked open just a sliver. "What do you want?"

Rachel's face filled the gap.

I looked past her, my eyes locking onto Ray as he comforted Ruth, stroking her hair.

My voice rang out, sharp and clear: "Ray."

He glanced over, irritation flickering in his gaze—a look so cold it chilled me to the bone.

But the past was smoke. From this moment on, I would carry no more longing.

I swallowed every emotion and said the words I never thought I'd say: "Let's get a divorce."