The Blizzard That Swallowed Us
My best friend, Maya Garcia, and I married the Sinclair brothers, titans of Seattle's tech scene.
As if by a stroke of luck, we both got pregnant at the same time, eagerly awaiting our new lives as mothers.
But during a weekend trip in my third trimester, on the night of a blizzard warning, my husband, Julian Sinclair, abandoned me at a remote mountain resort with no cell service. He rushed to the side of his ex-girlfriend, the influencer Scarlett Dubois, even though I was showing clear signs of early labor.
Helpless, I hiked for miles to find a signal and called Maya. But on her way to get me, our car skidded on an icy mountain road, careening off the highway and tumbling down a steep embankment.
As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I heard Maya frantically calling her husband, Liam, only for him to meet her pleas with cold accusations.
We were found by passing hikers, but it was too late. Both Maya and I lost our babies.
Waking up in a sterile hospital room, we shared a single, silent look. In that moment, we both knew. It was over. We were getting divorced.
I whispered, "It's over, isn't it?" She just squeezed my hand, her grip tight, and nodded.