The snow was falling harder that afternoon.
Outside, the sky had lost all color. Everything had faded away.
Even the outlines of the house seemed to dissolve into the white.
Catarina pulled the zipper of her coat up to her chin.
Her fingers were numb, not from the cold, but from tension.
Althéa was jumping up and down impatiently by the door, her clear voice cutting through the silence of the living room.
"Are you ready?" she shouted from the hallway.
"Yes, I'm coming."
Catarina put on her gloves and took a deep breath.
She carefully avoided looking toward the hallway.
She knew that one door, over there, remained closed: the office door.
And she also knew that behind it, he was listening to her.
Always.
Like a ghost who never sleeps.
"Let's go!" Althea called cheerfully.
Catarina nodded and grabbed her bag.
Their footsteps crunched on the carpet. The wind blew in when the door opened.
The icy air hit them like a slap in the face.
"Dad? Do you want us to bring you anything?"
Silence.
Then, from the office:
"No. Just enjoy the day."
His voice was calm. Too calm.
The kind of calm that only exists after a war.
Althéa smiled, shrugged, and grabbed Catarina's hand.
And they went outside.
The snow was already up to their ankles.
The world seemed to have forgotten noise.
Cars passed slowly, gliding through a dream.
The sky, low and heavy, blended into the earth.
"He's weird today," Althéa whispered.
"Your father?"
"Yes. He spoke as if something had broken."
Catarina felt her throat tighten.
She lowered her head, pretending to look at her footsteps.
"He's just tired."
"Maybe. But you seem strange too."
"Really?"
"Yeah. You have that look in your eyes. The one you had the first time I saw you, in high school.
As if you were there without really being there."
Catarina smiled sadly.
"Maybe I'm not really here."
Althéa laughed, not understanding.
She continued talking about the Christmas market, the teachers, the snow, a thousand insignificant things.
And Catarina listened to her, clinging to that voice like a lifeline.
Because she knew that when she got home, she wouldn't be the same anymore.
Neither of them would be.
The market was bustling, sparkling, alive.
Garlands hung between the wooden chalets, children laughed, couples held hands.
It was beautiful. And cruel.
Because everything, absolutely everything, seemed too alive for her.
"Look, they're making candy apples!" Althea exclaimed.
"Go get one," Catarina said with a smile. "I'll wait for you here."
Althea dashed off, disappearing into the crowd.
Catarina stood alone, her hands clasped around a cup of hot chocolate.
The steam rose to her face, stinging her eyes.
Or maybe it was tears.
Her phone vibrated.
A notification. A message.
From him.
"Don't leave without saying goodbye."
She closed her eyes.
The screen lit up her drawn features for a few seconds, then she locked the phone without replying.
She couldn't.
The sky poured down on them, heavy and silent.
And in that endless white, she finally understood:
there would be no goodbye that didn't hurt.
When they got home, the house was plunged into darkness.
Snow had covered the windows, muffling any light.
Althea went straight upstairs, humming.
Catarina remained alone in the hallway.
The office at the end of the corridor drew her in.
She hadn't planned to stop there.
And yet her steps carried her to the half-open door.
Sylus was there.
Sitting at his desk, the light from the fire casting shadows on his face.
He didn't look up right away.
But he knew.
He had sensed her presence even before she spoke.
"I'm leaving," she said simply.
He looked up.
Their eyes met one last time.
He could have said stay.
She could have said I want to stay.
But neither of them had the strength.
"Be careful on the road," he said at last.
"Always."
She approached slowly.
Each step echoed like a page being turned.
When she reached the door, she stopped.
Their shadows touched without them doing so.
And in a whisper:
"I won't forget you."
He closed his eyes.
One beat. Two.
Then he replied:
"That's the problem."
She stood frozen, her heart beating too fast.
Then she turned on her heel, opened the door, and walked out.
The snow engulfed her immediately.
The flakes fell silently, like a curtain.
She walked without looking back.
Inside, Sylus remained seated in the light of the fire.
His coffee had long since grown cold.
On the table, a folded handkerchief bore a trace of lipstick.
He picked it up between his fingers.
And in an almost inaudible whisper, he said:
"Merry Christmas, Catarina."
The fire crackled softly, swallowing the last embers.
And outside, the world continued to fall white.