The weather turned violent just after midnight. A crack of thunder shook the penthouse, vibrating through the glass walls like an explosion.
In his bedroom, William Croft woke up screaming.
He wasn’t in New York. He was back on the mountain in the Swiss Alps. The whiteout. The roar of the snow. The silence that followed. His chest constricted. He couldn’t breathe.
He stumbled into the hallway, gasping for air, his vision tunneling. He slid down the wall, clutching his chest, drowning in a panic attack.
“Mr. Croft?”
Sophie appeared at the end of the hall. She saw him on the floor, pale and shaking. She didn’t run for help; she ran to him.
“William,” she said, dropping to her knees. She grabbed his hands, which were cold as ice. “Look at me. You’re not there. You’re here.”
“I can’t… I can’t find her,” William choked out, tears streaming down his face.
“Breathe with me,” Sophie commanded softly, placing his hand against her chest so he could feel the steady rhythm of her heart. “In. Out. Just listen to my voice.”
She stayed with him as the storm raged outside, holding the “Ice King” as he shattered. For the first time since the funeral, William let someone inside the walls, collapsing into her arms and weeping for the wife he couldn’t save.