After the Ice Melts

It had been eight years since I last saw my ex-boyfriend, Jack Godley.
The boy with the bleached-blond hair had dyed it black, lasered off his tattoos, and transformed into a refined, aloof tycoon.
As for me, the delicate flower he once knew? I was still a flower, just one that was rapidly wilting away.
"Miss Collins, I'm very sorry, but the cancer has metastasized too far. Any further treatment would only cause you more pain."
The doctor was kind, phrasing "just go home and wait to die" as gently as he could.
I walked out clutching my own death sentence. Passing by the obstetrics department, I slammed right into him.
Eight years. He was taller, more handsome, more
"If you're not going to use your eyes, donate them to someone who will."
Right. More of an asshole.
1
After spitting that cold remark at me, Jacks face transformed in an instant.
He turned to the woman beside him, her baby bump prominent, his voice softening with concern.
It was an accident, but she was pregnant, and I figured I could use some good karma before I kicked the bucket.
"I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going. Are you okay?"
The woman offered me a reassuring smile and shook her head. Then she turned to Jack, her brow furrowed as she gently tapped his arm. "She didn't mean it. Why do you have to be so harsh?"
My eyebrows shot up. I nodded emphatically in agreement. Being a CEO had certainly done a number on the sweet boy I once knew.
"I'm sorry," the woman said to me, her presence radiating a gentle warmth that only an expectant mother possesses. She and Jack, with her refined grace and his commanding presence, looked like they were made for each other. "He gets overprotective. He didn't mean to offend you."
She didn't seem to know who I was, and Jack was clearly content to pretend he didn't either. Suddenly, the sterile hospital air felt suffocating.
"It's fine, really. As long as you're alright. I should go."
I sidestepped them, my shoulder brushing against Jacks as I passed. In the antiseptic air, I caught the faintest trace of his signature cedarwood scent.
Back home, my body felt like it had hit its limit. The moment I collapsed onto my bed, a vicious cramp seized my stomach. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead, mingling with the silent tears escaping the corners of my eyes.
My phone rang, a shrill, insistent sound.
"Mia, great news! The investors love the new project. We just need you to finish the script so we can submit it for approval."
It was Chloe, a TV producer I'd befriended on a previous project.
I glanced at my reflection in the full-length mirror. A pale, tear-streaked face stared back, my hair plastered messily to my cheeks.
"Chloe, I haven't figured out the ending yet. Can we maybe put it on hold for a"
"No way, Mia, we can't! This investor is a huge deal. If we bail on them, we can kiss our careers in this town goodbye."
The words of retreat died in my throat. I didn't have a future to worry about, but Chloe did.
"Okay," I sighed. "I get it. I'll finish it as soon as I can."
After hanging up, I pulled out the painkillers the doctor had prescribed. One bottle, 30 pills for a month. One a day, hed said. But since I was dying anyway, I saw no point in rationing my comfort. I shook out three and swallowed them dry.
I sat down at my laptop, opened the document, and began to write the final chapter of my last story.
The sky bled from black to blue, then from blue back to black.
[THE END]
After typing the final words, I stretched, letting out a long, slow breath. The idea for this story had been in my head for years, but it wasn't until this year that I finally put it to paper. I stared at the screen, a bitter smile on my lips.
"Maybe everything is just fated to be."
Moments after I emailed the script to Chloe, my phone buzzed wildly.
"Mia, I absolutely love it! This is the best thing you've ever written!"
She was ready to pop the champagne before the investors had even replied. And somehow, in a daze, I agreed to meet her for a celebratory drink.
Id barely eaten anything but a few bites of a stale croissant while racing to finish the script. Now, with alcohol in my system, my stomach was churning unpleasantly. I couldn't take another painkiller. Gritting my teeth against the throbbing pain, I got up, intending to ask the bartender for a glass of hot water.
I turned and walked straight into a warm, solid chest.
The scent of cedar filled my senses, and for a second, my mind went completely blank.
2
The next second, I was shoved away roughly.
Jack was frowning, disgustedly brushing at the spot on his chest where Id touched him.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to," I apologized sincerely.
"That's twice in two days you've run into me. If it wasn't intentional, you should probably get your brain checked."
Maybe it was the searing pain in my stomach, or maybe it was just the sheer exhaustion of it all. My nerves were frayed to their breaking point, too fragile to withstand his barbed words.
He let out a cold, sharp laugh, his eyes raking over me. "What's with the wounded act? I state a simple fact and now you're going to cry?"
He was right. I hadn't cried when he knelt in the snow eight years ago, begging me not to leave him. Now, looking at this proud, cold man in his tailored suit, I couldn't find a single trace of the boy I once loved.
I knew he remembered me. The loathing and hatred in his eyes were too clear to ignore. He obviously wanted nothing more to do with me. I could at least grant him that final wish. Another good deed before the end.
"You're right. I'm sorry. I'll make sure to stay out of your way from now on."
I walked around him and left.
When I returned with my hot water, Chloe was back at the table. "Where'd you go? You disappeared the second I got back. You scared me."
"Just went to get some water." Bumping into Jack was a fluke, a cruel twist of fate not worth mentioning.
I thought submitting the script was the end of it. But the next day, Chloe called me in a panic.
"It's bad, Mia! The investors rejected it. You need to get to the office, now!"
When I arrived, Chloe and an associate from the investment firm were waiting in the conference room. I was ushered inside. Chloe shot a nervous look at the man sitting with his back to us in a large executive chair.
"Excuse me," I began, addressing the man directly, assuming he was the big boss Chloe had mentioned. "Could you tell me which part of the script you weren't satisfied with?"
There was a long pause. Then, a familiar voice cut through the silence.
"The ending."
The chair swiveled around, revealing Jack's cold, impassive face. So he was the big-shot investor. He met my gaze, not a flicker of surprise in his eyes.
Before I could speak, Chloe jumped in to defend me. "Mr. Godley, audiences today prefer happy endings. Its what the market demands."
Jack nodded slowly. Chloe looked relieved for a second, but then he spoke again, his voice dangerously quiet.
"I don't like this ending. Change it."
The audacity of a corporate tyrant. Utterly unreasonable.
"If you want a different ending, you should hire a different writer. I can't write it." I wasn't above compromising for money, but this story, this one story, felt too personal to change.
Jack looked at me, a thin, cruel smile playing on his lips. "Fine. Then you can pay the breach of contract fee."
The color drained from Chloe's face. She scribbled a number on a piece of paper and slid it towards me.
[$8,000,000]
They could sell me, sell the whole damn production company, and we still wouldn't have eight million dollars.
I sighed, a bitter laugh escaping me. Fine. I was dying anyway. What did artistic integrity matter now?
"Okay. I'll change it."
The meeting ended. The capitalists were satisfied, and I was the poor workhorse left to do their bidding. But it seemed fate wasn't done kicking me while I was down.
Jack's assistant, Mark, caught up to me. "Ms. Collins, to facilitate communication about the script, Mr. Godley has requested you work from our offices for the time being."
I frowned, looking past him to where Jack stood, coolly dismissing someone else. He hated me, right? So why would he want me under his nose all day? It made no sense. My empty stomach protested loudly. I mumbled my assent and hurried away.
In the breakroom, I had just pulled out my bottle of pills when the door swung open.
"What are you doing?"
Jack's voice startled me, and the bottle slipped from my hand, scattering the precious pills across the floor.
3
Ignoring him, I dropped to my knees, my heart aching as I gathered the pills. These weren't just painkillers anymore; they were my lifeline.
Jack stood there in silence, watching me pick them up, one by one. I was about to pop the last three into my mouth when his hand shot out and stopped me.
"They fell on the floor. You're just going to eat them like that?"
I irritably shook his hand off. Eight years had changed so much about him, but his damn germaphobia had stuck around. "It's none of your business."
I swallowed the pills quickly. Jack's frown deepened. As I turned to leave, he spoke again.
"What kind of medication is that?"
I paused, looking at him, puzzled. He caught my inquisitive gaze and sneered.
"Don't get the wrong idea. I'm just curious. Did all your dirty deeds finally catch up to you?"
A bitter smile formed in my heart. You have no idea. After all, I had broken the heart of an eighteen-year-old boy, stolen his first time, and then left him without a second glance. Terminal stomach cancer seemed like a fitting punishment.
But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. I plastered a brazen smile on my face. "Sorry to disappoint you. Just low on vitamin C. Doctor's orders."
After leaving his office, I went to the Westwood Orphanage.
"Dean," I asked the headmistress, "what did the doctor say about Lily's eyes?"
The Dean shook her head sadly. "We're still waiting for a donor. There's nothing more they can do for now."
For some reason, my mind flashed back to bumping into Jack at the hospital. I squeezed the Dean's hand. "Don't worry. Our Lily is such a sweet, wonderful girl. I know she'll be able to see the world again one day."
Before I left, I transferred another sum of money to the orphanage's account.
"Mia," the Dean said, her voice full of concern, "you're not a little girl anymore. You need to save for yourself. Find someone you love, get married, have a family. You've done more than enough for us. Your kindness is all we need."
I grew up here. The Dean was the only mother I'd ever known.
"I'm making good money now, Dean. You don't have to worry about me."
I hadn't told anyone about my illness. She had enough to worry about without adding my burdens to her own.
When I got home, I went online and registered as an organ donor. Jacks cruel words had a point. I wouldn't be needing my organs anymore.
The next day, I reported to Jack's company on time. Mark showed me to a desk. "You'll be working here, Ms. Collins. Mr. Godley's office is right next door."
I stared at the pristine glass wall that separated the two spaces. It was so clean it was almost invisible. "Could I possibly move? I feel a little pressured sitting here. It might affect my writing."
"I'm sorry, Ms. Collins. These were Mr. Godley's specific instructions."
Right. No room for negotiation.
Thankfully, Jack was a busy man. He hadn't returned to his office by the time lunch rolled around.
But Isabelle did.
She walked up to my desk, carrying a lunch box, her baby bump more pronounced than before. She looked surprised to see me.
"Mr. Godley's new project... I'm the screenwriter," I explained. "I'll be working here until the script is approved."
"It seems you and Jack are truly bound by fate," she said, her eyes crinkling in a friendly smile that made me feel inexplicably guilty.
Footsteps sounded behind me. It was Jack. He strode past me to Isabelle's side, taking the lunch box from her.
"Why did you come all this way? You could have had the driver bring it."
"It's no trouble. I was bored at home anyway."
The two of them disappeared into his office, leaving me feeling like a ghost. I had no right to be upset, but my heart clenched painfully anyway.
4
The week flew by. I submitted three different endings. Every single one was rejected.
My stomach was in knots. I hadn't eaten a proper meal all week. Watching Isabelle bring Jack delicious, home-cooked lunches every day made my takeout taste like ash. I was desperate to finish the script, but Jack kept stonewalling me. The more pressure I felt, the worse my mood became, and the less I ate. The less I ate, the more my stomach hurt.
In just one week, Id lost ten pounds.
It felt like a white-hot poker was being twisted in my gut. A cold sweat broke out across my skin. My fingers were trembling so badly I could barely type. I was curled in my chair, shaking, about to reach for my pills, when my chair was violently spun around.
Jack was crouching in front of me, his brow knitted in a deep frown. He roughly grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him.
"Mia, what the hell is wrong with you?"
I wanted to tell him to fuck off. I wanted to slap his hands away. But when I opened my mouth, my teeth chattered with pain, and I couldn't even lift my arm.
The next thing I knew, the world tilted. When my head cleared, Jack was carrying me out of the office.
At the hospital, a doctor gave me a quick examination. He looked worried and wanted to run a full panel of tests.
I refused. "You don't have to, Doctor. I know what it is. It's terminal stomach cancer."
The kind doctor was at a loss for words, unable to find the right platitude.
"Doctor," I pleaded, "this is my private medical information. Please, help me keep it a secret. Especially from the man outside."
He agreed. He told Jack exactly what Id asked him to: that I just had a bad case of gastritis.
Jack was skeptical. "Gastritis makes someone hurt that badly?"
The doctor hesitated. I seized the moment, playfully slapping Jack's arm.
"What, are you worried about me?"
That did it. His face froze over. He turned on his heel and walked away.
As I was slowly making my way out of the hospital, a luxury car pulled up beside me.
"Mrs. Godley. It's been a long time."
Inside was Jack's mother, my former employer.
"Have you forgotten the promise you made when you took my money and left?"
"I haven't forgotten. To never appear in front of Jack again for the rest of my life."
She glanced at me, her eyes dripping with a familiar scorn.
"We met by chance, through work. Don't worry, he can't stand the sight of me. What you're worried about will never happen." I hated being looked at like I was trash, but she had given me the money that saved a life. I owed her that much.
"See that it doesn't. Finish your work and get away from my son."
When I went back to the office the next day, I heard Jack was on a business trip. He'd be gone for two weeks. With the boss away, the administrative staff relaxed.
"Why is the boss gone for so long this time?"
"Oh, you don't know? He's not just there for business. He's scouting maternity hospitals for Ms. Isabelle."
"No wonder! They have the best obstetricians in the country there. He really cares about her, doesn't he?"
I didn't hear the rest. I just got up and walked out.
Back home, I opened my laptop and created a new, blank document.
I knew what kind of ending Jack wanted.
I was just greedy. I had gambled on the foolish hope that he might show me a sliver of mercy.
It was time to give up.
When the snow melts, there will be nothing left between us. In life and in death, we will never meet again.
He approved this ending. The single word "Approved" glowed on my phone screen. A hot, coppery taste filled my mouth, and I coughed, spraying blood across the screen.
Darkness closed in. A bitter smile touched my lips.
My ending, it seemed, was finally here.

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