Marcus' POV
I had put everything in the care of my assistants and left the office as early as I could, back when the snowfall wasn't too bad. I had been in high spirits, confident I'd make it home before the snow got worse. But I had misjudged the weather.
In the back seat, I had a customized vinyl player Anne had always wanted, a red dress, a Lego set, a dollhouse, and two toy trucks, all wrapped up in different boxes for my family. I couldn't wait to surprise them. The snow was falling heavier now, making driving treacherous, even for someone as experienced as me. I reached out and turned off the music playing in the car. The only sounds left were the muffled thumping of wet snowflakes hitting the roof and windshield, the low hum of the heater, and the rhythmic squeak of the windshield wipers. A deep, insulated silence settled in, making the atmosphere feel strangely calm and suffocating at the same time for me. I needed every ounce of focus to get to my destination—I could barely see the road ahead. Everything that had once been familiar was now a featureless stretch of white. If I had been inside my home or office, this view would have been mesmerizing. Out here, though, it was torture.
I passed parked vehicles, their occupants likely having rushed into nearby diners to escape the storm. I considered stopping too, but I had made a promise. I was determined to get home on time for once—to spend our anniversary together. I missed Anne, and I missed our kids, Shelley and Dustin, even more. It was already eightpm. The dim streetlights barely cut through the swirling snow, offering no real help. My headlights were useless too. My heart pounded as I pressed forward, feeling the tires slip slightly beneath me. It seemed like I was the only one left on the road.
Tonight, I would finally make up for all the missed moments, all the anniversaries and Christmases I had spent away. This was our tenth, and I had sworn to Anne that I'd be home early. No work, no excuses. She probably hadn't believed me. I had made the same promise every year and always let her down. I had been so consumed by the fear of not providing enough that I had lost sight of what truly mattered—being present. I thought about all the nights I had come home late, too exhausted or too distracted to fully be there with them. I regretted all of them.
I wished my father were still here. Everything I knew about work, I had learned from him. I had always wanted to be the kind of father to my kids that he was to me, but I wasn't sure I had succeeded. He had died when I was sixteen, leaving me alone in the world, with no relatives to fall back on. I had spent two years in a foster home before striking out on my own. I had built something from nothing, just like my father taught me, and now I was one of the wealthiest men in the country. But one lesson I hadn't followed was the one about balance—about playing as hard as much as I worked hard. And it has almost destroyed my family.
I snapped back to the present. The snow kept coming, thick and relentless, nearly covering the road entirely.
My wipers swished back and forth, but instead of clearing my vision, they left behind thick streaks of ice and slush. No matter how fast they moved, it only got worse. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to keep control. I had an hour left to go, but it felt like I had been driving forever. The thought of Anne and the kids waiting by the Christmas tree pushed me forward. I had to make it.
My phone buzzed on the seat beside me, but I ignored it. It was probably someone from the office. Right now, I couldn't afford distractions.
I had driven this route more times than I could count. I knew it like the back of my hand—at least, I had thought I did. Tonight, it felt like everything I knew had vanished, replaced by a blinding, disorienting white. My hands trembled against the wheel.
The car swerved. I bit down hard and corrected the steering. Despite the cold, I could feel sweat beading on my forehead.
Then it swerved again, the tires skidding across the ice as if it was possessed.
Air stalled in my lungs.
I tried to correct it, but it was too late. The car fishtailed violently, veering left, then right. My heart slammed against my ribs as I struggled to regain control. The headlights flashed wildly through the storm, the world blurring in streaks of white.
"No, no, no—" I was beginning to yell...
The wheels lost their grip entirely.
I held onto the steering wheel—not because I had control anymore, but because it was the only thing keeping me grounded. The car spun. My vision blurred. The next thing I knew, I crashed headfirst into a pole. The impact sent a blinding pain through my skull, and a sharp stab of agony shot through my ribs.
The world exploded in pain and white.
I gasped, dizzy and disoriented. My hands shook as I reached for my phone, but the ache in my body and the cold seeping in through the shattered windshield made it difficult to think, to move.
I fumbled, my fingers brushing the screen just as another wave of dizziness hit me. The phone slipped from my grasp.
I slumped back into my seat.
The snow kept falling, thick and silent.
For a moment, the world felt too quiet.
No rushing. No fear. No work.
Just silence.
Anne's face flashed in my mind—the woman I had promised to love and cherish. Then Shelley and Dustin, waiting for me by the Christmas tree.
I had spent so many years terrified of not having enough to give them, of losing everything, just like I had lost my father. I had been so afraid of failure that I had failed to see the truth. Time—time with them—was the most valuable thing I had.
Tears stung my eyes.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice shaking. "I'm so sorry."
But it was too late.
My apologies couldn't change anything.
The snow fell silently around me, a cold, merciless blanket. The same snow that had once brought me comfort was now my undoing.