**Authors Note: Many thanks to ABSTRUSE for her wonderful assistance in the editing and suggestions for this story. Her help was invaluable. Many thanks go as well to rozezwild for her editing, review, and assistance in the polishing the story. Their help made the presentation of this story possible. All the good stuff is because of them. The bad stuff is mine alone. **

*

Staring at the fire did nothing for my melancholy mood. It wasn't always like this, only now it was hard to remember when it wasn't. Outside it was cold, blustery, and wintry white. The new snowfall renewed the world yet again, into a wonderland of clean hopes and dreams. Cold, clean and all of the ugly hidden under a blanket of pristine white. I was no longer part of it. My world would never again be new or clean.

My eyes wander around the cabin we built together. The stone fireplace you insisted on. Massive and dominating the entire cabin, it was of native stone, found all around the place when we began the cabin. It was funny seeing all the workmen wandering the property trying to find the stones to complete the huge structure. Now it seems more like a stone monument to a forgotten love. Cold, uncaring, and rough, utterly without any warmth of any kind.

The brown, slightly dusty, solid rough-hewn logs made up the walls. Imported from Scandinavia just like your father's house had been. I think about how much that meant to you. It was a marvel to me. All brought over in the hold of a ship as ballast, too numerous and bulky to ride as regular cargo. Each carefully numbered in that European way, so that it could be reassembled here. What happens when you run out of numbers and are no longer part of the plan?

The bookcase lined with the books you thought belonged there. Each and every title of significance to you; with their purpose. None of mine occupies that space either. They were yours, but I didn't mind. You wanted them and that was what was important to me. So proper, so Euro-Intellectual. I wonder if you ever read any of them or just had them for show. The warm leather bindings just begging to be held, opened and enjoyed. The stories they told of loving, loss, pain and suffering. Maybe it would have been better if you read them, rather than using them for decorations.

I can still see that picture of your father over the fireplace. He was a wonderful man. I always liked him. You worshiped him. Sometimes I wonder about you and him. He seemed like he took all the love that you possessed for someone else. You insisted and I let you have your way, as I always did. What a strange thing dominating a room where he'd never been. Or was he always here. Maybe he was here instead of me?

Over across the room is the doorway to the bedroom. You were so excited about the bedroom right off the main room when we built the place. The heat and glow from the fire could be felt and seen when we were lying on our bed. Our bed. We hunted for months for just the right iron bedstead to fit with the décor of the cabin. Flaking white paint covered the heavy bars with very little scrollwork or adornment. None was needed when your beauty adorned the bed. We laughed about how good it was that the bed was so strongly built as we did our level best to break it. . That sounds so funny now. Your bed that I temporarily occupied. Was I ever really there?

The corner off the main room that was the kitchen, European in design and style. Those crazy little bitsy European refrigerators. They never held much. Still, it was where you built those delicious treats. You did love to cook when you were young. The delight in your face was something to behold. It was as infectious and your pastries were wonderfully fattening. Watching you prepare and cook always brought a smile to my face, sharing in the sheer joy you had. The tumultuous times we had trying to work off the extra calories from your rich cooking. I think we tried to make love in every corner of the cabin. When was the last time you cooked anything from scratch? They don't have workable kitchens in those Manhattan high rises, do they?

The storm is it's increasing its fury. The road is probably impassible now. No coming or going for at least several days. Remember the first time we were snowed in, before the generator? We snuggled in the blankets before the fire and told stories of love and life. Reliving all the good times we had experienced so far, and planning for our futures. Funny, I don't remember this in the plan. We made love that night and each successive night until they cleared the roads. An entire week of just delighting in each other, basking in our solitude and love for one another. We played in the snow around the cabin and tried to make snow angels, but there was too much snow. We just sunk in and made wallows. We laughed and stumbled in them together. After our play, we warmed ourselves by the fire and made love all over again.

********

The storm is abating now. The world looks fresh and clean. Pristine, just as our love was, before you fell in love with yourself. Who knew that particular love would crowd out all others? It even took my place in your heart. I was no longer an important part of your life; just an accessory to be discarded when no longer useful or pleasing. When did it happen? Was the love too strong? Did it frighten you? Did it crowd your love of your father too much, or did your love of self just grow that big?

Tomorrow is Christmas. We always spent it here, together. Away from the glitz and glitter. Just us reveling in our love. I wonder where you are this morning. I'm here in our cabin. I'll just sit here on our couch and look at the unbroken snow over the field that was our front yard here at the cabin. Just sit, hope, and wish you chose to be here with me, with us. Sitting watching out the large picture window as the snow remakes the world. I'm just so tired, but I have to wait for you.

************

My God, it's Christmas morning. The first Christmas ever that we didn't spend at the cabin since its building. My first one alone here ever. Christmas, a time of renewing loves and caring; a time for a new start. A time to begin anew; just like the pristine snow outside. The fire is almost dead now. It does little to add warmth. Mostly it casts smoke and shadow over what was once our room, but now the laughter and love are gone. You made it a home and you are gone as well. I hope you enjoy your life with yourself. For me it is time to enter the unknown and begin again.

The divorce papers are signed and ready. Instructions are with the lawyers. They are the only ones concerned with the vestiges of our love. Of course, I have given you all you could want and more. How could I not? This cabin is a cold building of wood and stone bereft of any emotions or solace. You made it a home, until there was no longer any room for love in your heart except for yourself. I know you'll sell it to someone else who will love its warmth and again make it a home. It's crying out to be a home again.

I look out on the beautiful clean Christmas snow. Merry Christmas Laura. Merry fuckin Christmas to me.

Click

Bang

The unbroken silence of the new fallen Christmas snow.