Snow Falls, But You Never Came

Between the two of us sisters, I never measured up.

Camille Simmons was the golden child—an Ivy League graduate who'd made a name for herself in the investment world. I was just the receptionist at our family's company.

When Camille got married, the wedding was held at the Burj Al Arab in Dubai. The guest list read like a who's who of high society. When I married Rod Pruitt, he was still writing code in a rented studio apartment.

But I didn't mind.

Because he'd once looked me in the eyes and told me, with all the sincerity in the world:

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and mine only see you, Theresa Simmons."

Three years later, Rod's company went public.

I set a full dinner table in our new house, waiting for him to come home so we could celebrate. The door opened, but he froze in the entryway.

I followed his gaze.

In the living room, a slender figure sat weeping beneath the lamplight.

It was Camille.

She'd gotten a divorce. She'd come to me.

……

I knew exactly why she was here. She'd walked away from her marriage with nothing. She had nowhere else to go.

I should have rushed to greet her. Comforted her. Pulled her into my arms.

She was my sister, after all. My own flesh and blood.

But my feet felt like they'd been poured full of lead. I couldn't move.

The way Rod was looking at her—I'd never seen that expression before.

He stood in the foyer, only a few steps from me. But it was as if I didn't exist. His eyes were fixed on the woman on the couch.

Camille Simmons wore a white dress, her head bowed, crying softly.

Rod's hand lifted, then dropped. He hesitated for a long moment before finally walking over.

He sat down beside her. Handed her a tissue. Spoke to her in a low voice.

I couldn't make out the words.

But that expression. That look in his eyes. It was nothing like the man I knew.

I recognized it instantly.

Every man who'd ever chased after Camille had looked at her exactly the same way.

A draft from the air conditioning swept over me. Cold.

Three years ago, on a night like this, I'd stood in my wedding dress waiting for Rod to come for me. He'd been so good to me—so good that I'd never once worried about a thing.

Now I knew he could look at someone else like that.

Like she was the only person in the room.

My phone buzzed several times before I snapped out of it. The company group chat was asking about tomorrow's meeting schedule. I typed a few words back without thinking.

When I looked up again, the living room was empty.

Rod was guiding Camille down the hallway. One hand rested on her shoulder. The other hovered at the small of her back.

She kept her head down, still crying, barely able to walk. Her whole body leaned against him.

They looked close. Intimate, even.

I stood in the middle of the hallway with a bowl of freshly heated soup, directly in their path.

Rod saw me and paused.

"Theresa."

His tone was even enough.

"I heard about your sister's divorce. She really needs family around her right now."

As if afraid I might read too much into it, Camille quickly pushed Rod away and stepped back. She swayed, nearly losing her balance.

Rod reached out instinctively to steady her. She flinched away.

"I'm so sorry, Theresa."

Her voice was hoarse, her head still lowered.

"I didn't want to intrude on you two. I just had nowhere else to go. If this is too much trouble, I'll leave right now."

She actually turned to go.

But she was in no state to walk. She made it one step before her legs buckled.

I set the soup down and caught her.

"Camille."

I held her hands. They were ice cold.

"What are you talking about? Mom already told me about the divorce."

She looked up at me, tears pooling along her lashes.

"I really had no other choice." Her voice trembled. "If I had anywhere else to stay, I would never have come to burden you..."

"Camille, this is your home too."

I sighed. "Don't talk about being a burden."

She blinked, stunned for a moment. Then the tears spilled over again.