Love Ends in Winter

: Stomachache

In the car, Mom looked a little guilty. "Claire, did I do something wrong?"

I suppressed the lump in my throat and shook my head. "No. But Mom, from now on, let me handle things with Owen myself."

Mom sighed, carefully studying my expression.

"How did Owen turn out like this? I remember back then, he was such a good kid. I've seen how unhappy you've been lately, so I just wanted to ask him what he was thinking."

As she spoke, she let out a long sigh. "But don't blame him, either. Owen is suffering, too. Back then, he was so full of life..."

Her words were cut off by my tears. I pulled the car over and, no longer able to hold it in, buried my head in the steering wheel and sobbed.

Actually, Owen was the one who pursued me first.

He fell in love with me at first sight during our freshman year. After digging up my information, he began a relentless pursuit. I rejected him time and again. The flowers he sent, the paper cranes he folded, the meals he got for me every day, all the little gifts he gave—I had every single one sent back.

But still, he wouldn't give up.

He won over my roommates, having them tell me things about him every day. It was through them that I slowly started to learn about the kind of person he was.

He was smart, a good student, and athletic—the captain of the school basketball team. He was also kindhearted. During the massive flood two years prior, he'd gone behind his parents' backs to help with disaster relief. At such a young age, he rescued more than a dozen trapped people. He was good at so many things, and yet he was incredibly innocent when it came to love. I was the first girl he had ever liked.

During the school basketball tournament, I was chosen as the cheerleading captain. After the game, he snatched the microphone from the emcee: "Claire Grant, I like you!"

The boy's voice seemed to reach the heavens, his eyes, glistening with sweat, were alarmingly bright.

From that day on, everyone knew I was His goddess.

For those four years, he did all sorts of foolish things for me, and even cried in front of me several times.

One time, he was just sitting dejectedly outside my dorm building with a basket of apples beside him.

When he saw me approaching, he first wiped the corner of his eye, then pressed his lips together. "I know someone gave you a Christmas apple. I don't know how big theirs was, but I ran all over the city to buy the biggest, reddest ones I could find."

I'll never forget the hopeful look in his eyes at that moment.

In our senior year, his childhood sweetheart, Sylvia Linton, found me and demanded to know why I was hurting Owen Galloway. For my sake, Owen broke things off with Sylvia Linton in front of the entire school.

My mom was right. He used to be a very, very good person, which makes the man he is today all the more pitiable and infuriating.

I dropped my mom off and then went home.

When I got downstairs, under the warm yellow glow of a streetlight, I saw Owen Galloway and Sylvia Linton walking intimately together.

Sylvia Linton's head was tilted up, her smile radiant, as she spoke affectionately to Owen Galloway. Owen smiled gently, occasionally reaching out to brush a falling snowflake from her shoulder.

The night was serene, the snow falling without a sound.

The scene looked so romantic.

I was suddenly reminded of a day a year ago when I accompanied him to his rehabilitation session.

The snow was heavy that day. I struggled to help him out of the car, then went back to grab the various bags from inside.

The evening sky was gorgeous. I looked up for just a few seconds, but in that brief moment of distraction, he had already walked far ahead of me.

I don't know when it started, but he went from chasing my every step to treating me like a stranger.

I didn't go over to confront them. Instead, I turned and went upstairs.

There wasn't much to pack. I hadn't bought many new clothes these past few years; all my energy had been focused on him.

The door opened with a CLICK.

Owen Galloway returned, bringing in a gust of cold air and the scent of perfume.

Seeing that I was packing, he simply took off his overcoat, threw himself onto the sofa, and said listlessly, "My stomach hurts."

In the past, I would have immediately rushed over to get him a hot water bottle, gone to the kitchen to brew some ginger tea, and finally, coaxed him into taking his stomach medicine.

But this time, I acted as if I hadn't heard him, simply focusing on packing my things.