Page 125 of On Thin Ice

“You too,” I said. “See you at the arena tonight.”

I stepped outside into the cold Maine morning, the air crisp and clean in my lungs as snow crunched under my boots. Snow lined the trees, clung to the power lines, softening everything in sight. I climbed into my truck, set my tumbler of coffee in the holder, and let the engine rumble to life.

And as I pulled out of the driveway, I felt it—that quiet ache in my chest.

Not pain. Not fear. Just love. Just gratitude.

Sometimes I still thought about that night—the moment I stood on the edge of that proverbial cliff and just … jumped.

I didn’t fall.

I didn’t break.

I just kept flying.

Wekept flying.

As I turned onto the main road, a pair of cardinals—vibrant red against the landscape—burst from a snow-laden branch and soared upward, wings beating in perfect synchrony against the pale winter sky.