The Caged Smile — Part 5

The snow clawed at her legs like icy fingers, slowing her pace with each agonizing step. Her breath came out in clouds, sharp and shallow, stinging her throat. The cold was worse than she remembered. It wasn’t just the temperature—it was the suffocating emptiness around her. Miles and miles of white, stretching beyond what the eye could see. The world felt abandoned.

But she kept running.

Her feet, bare and raw, began to bleed as sharp ice and jagged roots bit into her soles. Still, she pressed on, falling once, twice—each time forcing herself up again. Her teeth chattered like rattling bones. Her hands were scraped, bruised from clawing at frozen branches for support.

She didn’t know how long she ran—time again blurred—but her knees buckled eventually, sending her crumbling to the frozen earth. Her body gave in, curled into a trembling ball. She couldn’t feel her fingers anymore. Her lips were purple, skin frostbitten.

“I have to keep going.” The words were more thought than voice.

Then, in the distance—faint, barely there—a light.

Her heart lurched.

She crawled at first, then staggered to her feet, dragging herself toward it. Closer. Closer. Until she realized—it wasn’t a house.

It was a small, abandoned maintenance cabin. Shabby. Half-buried under snow. But it had a door. Shelter.

She collapsed against it, struggling with the rusted handle. It creaked open.

Inside, it was pitch black and smelled of old wood and mildew. But it was warmer than the outside. Her limbs moved on instinct—stacking whatever cloth or sacks she found, making a pile to rest. She used the last of her strength to wedge the door shut with a loose board.

Then she collapsed again, barely conscious.

Meanwhile, back at the house, he stood frozen by the window for what felt like hours.

She was gone.

Truly gone.

A part of him had expected it. Another part believed she wouldn’t do it—that somehow, something they shared had become real.

Now, all that remained was silence. And snow.

He didn’t eat that night. Or the next.

He wandered from room to room in a trance. Sometimes replaying old footage of her from the cameras. Sometimes lying where she had slept. The smell of her still lingered. Her hair on the pillow. Her laughter, faint in memory.

The emptiness clawed at him.

He stopped speaking. Stopped shaving. His eyes dulled. He heard voices—hers, mostly—repeating phrases from long ago. He started seeing her in corners of the room. In mirrors. In dreams.

She awoke three days later, in a haze.

Her body was stiff, but alive. Her mind, still foggy. She searched the small shack—found old tins of food, a broken heater, a few matches. Enough to stay alive.

Enough to think.

She stayed hidden for days. Made a plan. She needed to find a road. A town. A person.

When the blizzard broke, she stepped out into the morning light.

She didn’t know if he was still out there.

But something inside her whispered that he was.

Watching.

Waiting.

The snow behind her had only one set of footprints.

For now.

(End of Part 5)