The Man Lost In the Snow

After I returned from the exhibition, I fell seriously ill. When the fever finally broke, I looked at my pale reflection in the mirror. Then, I applied concealer, carefully covering the dark circles under my eyes.

I still had my career. I just didn’t expect that, while meeting a client at a café downstairs from my office, I would run into Ethan again. He was sitting in a corner with Timothy, the two of them seemingly arguing about something.

I had intended to avoid them, but my client’s enthusiastic voice gave me away.

“Ms. William! Over here!”

Ethan looked up, and our eyes met instantly. This time, the cold indifference from that day was gone. In its place was curiosity.

I forced myself to look away, sat down across from my client, and began discussing the jewelry designs for the upcoming season.

“This ‘Fracture’ series is excellent,” the client said, pointing at the sketches. “That feeling of being reborn from despair is very compelling. What inspired you, Ms. William?”

My fingers tightened slightly around my coffee cup.

The inspiration came from the hallucinations I saw on the seventh day after Ethan’s presumed death, after I swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills. It came from the fleeting sense of relief I felt, night after night, when I dragged a blade across my own skin.

“Nothing in particular,” I said calmly. “I just think that once something is broken, it’s broken. Even if you piece it back together, the cracks remain. So you might as well shatter it and rebuild it from scratch.”

The client nodded in approval.

Not far away, Ethan suddenly stood up and walked straight toward me. Timothy tried to stop him, but failed.

“Lexie William.” He called my full name.

I ignored him and continued explaining, “For the main stone, we recommend using an uncut black diamond–”

“Lexie William!”

His voice rose sharply as he pressed a hand down on my design sketches.

The client startled, glancing between us. “Ms. William, who is this?”

I took a deep breath, closed my folder, and looked up at him.

“Mr. Ethan, what can I do for you? Please don’t interfere with my work.”

Ethan didn’t respond. His gaze was locked onto my wrist. Because my sleeve had shifted, several jagged scars were exposed. They had faded over time, but against my pale skin, they were still impossible to ignore.

“Timothy said… you tried to kill yourself three times because of me?”

There was a hint of disbelief and something else in his tone—something I couldn’t quite read. Perhaps it was guilt or just discomfort. After all, carrying the weight of someone else’s life… that kind of love was too heavy. For the man he was now, it was probably nothing more than a burden.

I pulled my sleeve down, covering the scars.

“You’re mistaken, Mr. Ethan. It has nothing to do with you. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He stiffened, clearly caught off guard, his expression turning grim.

“Lexie, I know you hate me. But I lost my memory, and I–”

“So losing your memory gives you the right to start a new life without a second thought?” I cut him off, unable to hold back anymore. The words spilled out all at once.

“Ethan, technology is so advanced now. If you really wanted to find your way home, you could’ve gone to a police station, but you didn’t. In the last three years, you had countless chances to come back and look for your past, but you chose to stay there and stay by Jane’s side. It’s not because you lost your memory. It’s because, deep down, you never wanted to come back at all.”

His eyes widened sharply. The Ethan who once stayed up all night in the city, anxious over exhibitions, mortgage payments, and our future, had found an escape in the mountains, and Jane saving his life had simply become the perfect excuse.

He stood there, stunned. Just then, the café door burst open. Jane rushed in, slightly out of breath, carrying a Tupperware.

“Ethan! Why did you run off? I made you a sandwich–”

The moment she saw the confrontation between us, her face went pale. The Tupperware slipped from her hands and hit the ground. The sandwich spilled out, dirtying Ethan’s pant leg.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry…” she said frantically, crouching down to wipe it.

Ethan immediately knelt beside her and grabbed her hands, his voice suddenly gentle, like he was a completely different person.

“Don’t touch it. It’s dirty. I’m fine.”

He helped her up and pulled her protectively behind him.

“Lexie,” he said, “I’m sorry about the past, but the person I love now is Jane. She’s simple and timid. She can’t handle this kind of stress. Please don’t appear in front of us again.”

I watched the scene unfold. Strangely, I felt calm. I even found it funny.

“Don’t worry,” I said, picking up my bag. Then, I turned to my stunned client with an apologetic smile. “Let’s continue this somewhere else.”