Our last winter

Carmen-

6:12 AM

Again.

The sharp voice of my alarm cut through the darkness.

Jolting awake before 6:30 had become a habit—not because I wanted to, but because the skater routine was stitched into my bones so deeply that my body never forgot.

I snuggled deeper into my blanket, trying to escape the pale winter air seeping through the cracks in the ceiling above me.

Usually, I stayed in bed long enough to let the golden hour pass.

Today, I couldn’t.

With a groan, I dragged myself out of bed and shuffled through our dusty apartment. It was too small for two people, but my mom always acted like it was enough.

I splashed cold water onto my face and looked up at the mirror.

For a horrible second, I almost didn’t recognize the girl staring back at me.

Not because I looked terrible.

Because I looked ordinary.

I looked like every other struggling seventeen-year-old trying to survive high school.

Nothing about me screamed national champion.

Nothing about me hinted at sold-out arenas or magazine covers.

Nothing about me suggested that people used to know my name.

My eyes drifted to the faint scar resting along my collarbone.

I gripped the sink tightly.

The lights.

The rink.

The cameras.

The look in Tanner’s eyes before—

I rushed out of the bathroom before the memories could swallow me whole.

Mom was already standing in the kitchen in her oversized pajamas, clutching a coffee mug like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

“Hey, honey.”

Her gaze remained fixed on the stack of envelopes spread across the counter.

Bills.

More bills.

“Hey.”

A red stamp caught my attention among the papers.

FINAL NOTICE.

I let out a quiet sigh.

“You’re up early.”

She finally looked at me.

Early?

Early was four in the morning.

Six was practically sleeping in.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I said.

Both of us knew it wasn’t true.

I crossed the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

Half a loaf of bread.

A carton of milk.

A few pieces of cheap fruit.

That was it.

We hadn’t always lived like this.

There was a time when my mom booked business-class flights to Europe without thinking twice.

A time when money wasn’t something we counted.

Now she stayed awake until dawn searching for grocery coupons and comparing prices online.

“Eat something,” she said softly.

“I’m fine.”

She nodded, though neither of us believed that either.

Then my eyes landed on a different envelope sitting apart from the rest.

Cream-colored.

Expensive paper.

Definitely not a bill.

Mom immediately reached for it.

I grabbed it first.

The elegant black lettering stared back at me.

Westbridge

My stomach twisted.

“What is this?”

I stared at the envelope.

My mom hesitated for a second too long.

Suddenly, I didn’t need an answer.

I knew exactly what it was.

I threw the envelope onto the floor.

“No.”

“Carmen—”

“No.”

My voice echoed through the tiny apartment.

“I’m not doing this again.”

“You know what happened.”

My throat tightened.

“You were there.”

I pointed at the envelope.

“Why would you ask me to do this again?”

“We need this, Carmen.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

Because my mom never begged.

Not unless things were really bad.

She glanced toward the pile of bills on the counter.

“Westbridge Academy wants you.”

“Why?”

Her gaze dropped to the letter.

“Apparently their star skater requested you.”

I let out a short laugh.

“Requested me?”

“His name is Zayn West.”

The name sounded vaguely familiar.

Probably another skating golden boy.

The type sponsors adored.

The type reporters followed around.

The type who had no idea what it felt like to lose everything.

“They said your styles complement each other.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Styles?”

Mom unfolded the letter.

“They said some skaters are graceful. Some are technical. Some are powerful. But you skate like you’re telling a story.”

My chest tightened.

I hated that part of me still cared.

“We need this,” she whispered.

“No.”

I shook my head.

“I’m not going back.”

“Do you not remember what happened?”

My voice cracked.

“Do you not remember reporters shoving cameras into your face?”

The memories rushed back.

The flashing lights.

The microphones.

The questions.

“How does it feel to watch your daughter destroy her own career at sixteen?”

“Will she ever recover?”

“Is her future over?”

I laughed bitterly.

“They treated us like entertainment.”

Mom didn’t answer.

Because she remembered.

She remembered all of it.

“But you love skating.”

The words landed softly.

Too softly.

I swallowed.

“No, Mom.”

My voice was barely a whisper.

“I loved who I was when I skated.”

Silence filled the apartment.

Everything had been taken from me.

My confidence.

My future.

My trust.

She was there for the fall.

She was there for every surgery.

Every sleepless night.

Every breakdown.

And yet somehow she still believed I could go back.

“We need this job, Carmen.”

Not dream.

Not passion.

Job.

Money.

The overdue notices on the counter suddenly felt impossible to ignore.

“We can’t survive if you don’t take it.”

I looked away.

“We’ll lose this apartment.”

I clenched my fists.

“I can’t do pair skating.”

The confession escaped before I could stop it.

“Pair skating requires trust.”

My breathing became uneven.

“And I lost that a long time ago.”

I looked into his eyes.

And he let me go.

He let me fall.

Ever since then, trust felt impossible.

“Carmen, please.”

There were tears in my mother’s eyes now.

“We need this.”

I hated that she was right.

I hated that I didn’t have a choice.

Zayn West.

Rich.

Arrogant.

And basically the Brad Pitt of the skating industry.

The kind of athlete magazines loved.

The kind of athlete everyone wanted to skate with.

He was a rising star.

I was a fallen one.

I didn’t know him.

I didn’t know what kind of person he was.

And I definitely didn’t know if he would let me fall too.

But the bills were real.

The debt was real.

And hunger was real.

I closed my eyes.

“When do I start?”

A relieved smile spread across Mom’s face.

“Today.”