Chapter 22 "Don't Love Her, Hate Her!"
It was just after Christmas. Exactly twelve years since Michael’s father had gone missing.
A brutal snowstorm was raging outside. Michael and his grandmother had been housebound for days. Following the local custom, they had stockpiled enough canned goods and firewood to last the week, so they were resting indoors while the blizzard buried the streets in white.
The small house was warm, the radiator clanking softly against the howling wind.
It was on that bitter afternoon that Nathan came to visit.
No one had visited them in years, so his grandmother was startled when the heavy knock sounded at the door.
When she pulled it open, Nathan stepped inside, bringing the biting chill of the outdoors with him. Frost clung to his sharp, handsome features, making his jawline appear even more gaunt and severe than the last time they had seen him. His dark hair was disheveled from the wind, and his cheeks and ears were flushed bright red from the cold, giving him a ragged, exhausted look.
And yet, he was still undeniably striking. To a young Michael, he looked like a weary, tragic movie star—someone with deep, melancholy eyes who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Why did you come out in such terrible weather?” Michael’s grandmother asked, hurriedly ushering him inside.
“I’m back in town for the Christmas break. I thought I’d stop by to see how you both were doing,” Nathan said politely, brushing the snow from his dark coat.
He never came empty-handed. This time was no exception—he placed several heavy boxes of expensive health supplements and holiday groceries on the table.
Michael’s grandmother tried to refuse, but eventually accepted them with tearful gratitude.
Michael heated water in the microwave, steeped a tea bag, and handed Nathan the steaming mug. Nathan took it, thanking him quietly.
He looked at the boy and offered a faint smile. “You’ve grown taller again, Michael.”
Michael ducked his head, embarrassed but pleased.
“He takes after his father,” his grandmother remarked softly, taking a seat opposite them.
Nathan’s smile didn’t waver. “That’s wonderful. I heard you got straight A’s again this semester?”
“Yeah,” his grandmother answered for him, her face beaming with frail pride. “He’s so driven. He always has to be the best in his class.”
“That’s good. Keep it up, Michael. Once you get into a good university next year, you’ll be able to give your grandmother the good life she deserves.”
“Who knows if I’ll live to see that day,” his grandmother sighed, though she smiled.
Michael sat at the far end of the table, pretending to work on a practice exam while listening to them chat.
The conversation flowed quietly for a while, until a sudden, heavy gust of wind rattled the windowpanes.
His grandmother looked toward the frosted glass. “In this bitter cold…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Where are they?”
Michael’s pen froze mid-stroke.
The only sound left in the room was the soft humming of the radiator.
He glanced up discreetly. Nathan was sitting perfectly still, his head bowed, staring blankly down at the dark surface of his tea. The dim, grey light from the window cast long shadows across his face, making him look as though he were slowly dissolving into the sorrow of the room.
The house fell into the familiar, suffocating grief that always seemed to eventually swallow them.
His grandmother wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. Nathan set his tea down, offered a few quiet, useless words of comfort, and finally rose to leave.
His grandmother walked him to the door. A moment after he left, she hurried back into the kitchen and shoved an old black umbrella into Michael’s hands. “Mr. Archer didn’t bring an umbrella! Hurry, run and give it to him before the snow ruins his clothes.”
“Okay.” Michael grabbed the umbrella, threw on his heavy winter coat, and bolted out the door.
The snow was coming down in thick, blinding sheets. Nathan was already a considerable distance down the street, a dark, solitary figure trudging through the white drifts.
“Mr. Archer!” Michael shouted over the wind.
He wanted to run, but the sidewalk was treacherous with hidden ice, so he had to practically slide step by step. It took him two full blocks to catch up.
Hearing the shout, Nathan stopped and turned around. When he saw the boy struggling through the snow, he immediately walked back toward him. “Michael? Why did you come out here? It’s freezing. Go back inside.”
“Mr. Archer, you forgot an umbrella.” Michael held it out, his teeth chattering.
“I don’t need it—”
“Please take it!” Michael insisted stubbornly, shivering in his coat.
Nathan looked at him, then sighed. “Thank you.”
He took the umbrella, popped it open, and immediately stepped forward, holding it over Michael to shield the boy from the driving snow. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”
Though it was only two blocks, Nathan couldn’t bear the thought of letting the teenager walk back alone in a blizzard.
Michael walked beside him, their boots crunching in unison.
After a minute of silence, Michael glanced up at Nathan’s profile. His curiosity had been burning for years. What kind of woman could vanish without a trace for over a decade, yet leave a man this brilliant, gentle, and successful completely incapable of moving on?
“What was your wife like?” Michael asked suddenly.
Nathan’s steps faltered. He looked down at the boy in surprise. “Why do you ask?”
“I just wanted to know.”
Nathan was quiet for a long time. He looked out at the blinding, violent white of the storm.
“Are you cold right now, Michael?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” Michael answered without hesitating. He was freezing.
“I feel it too,” Nathan murmured, his voice laced with an aching, distant nostalgia. “My wife… she was someone who made me feel like I would never be cold again. When I was with her, even the absolute worst winter storms just looked like beautiful scenery to me.”
He spoke simply, but Michael heard an intoxicating, unfathomable depth of love in those few words. An attachment so profound it bordered on madness.
“But what if she never comes back?” Michael asked bluntly.
Nathan’s jaw tightened. He pressed his lips into a thin line and offered absolutely no reply.
Realizing he had crossed a line, Michael immediately panicked. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s okay.” Nathan gave a harsh, bitter smile. “What if I never find her? What if she’s dead? What if she never comes back? You aren’t the first person to ask me, Michael. Everyone asks me.”
Michael looked up at him.
Under the black canopy of the umbrella, Nathan’s ears and nose were bright red from the freezing wind. But his dark, melancholic eyes were bloodshot too, swimming with a sorrow so fragile it looked as though he might shatter right there on the pavement.
His voice was barely a whisper over the wind. “Truthfully, I don’t know what to do either. I don’t know how to stop waiting. I don’t know how to stop searching. I don’t know how to kill the hope.”
Nathan looked down at the boy, his eyes utterly defeated. “I wish I could ask someone. What are you supposed to do when you lose the only person you’ve ever loved? If only someone could tell me how to do it.”
Hearing the raw, bleeding agony in the man’s voice, Michael felt a sudden, immense ache tear through his own chest.
He felt sorrow for Nathan. And he felt a terrifying sorrow for himself.
Though he always swore to his grandmother that he hated his father, only Michael knew the truth. Only Michael knew how desperately, how pathetically he still waited for his dad to walk through the door and cook him a steak.
Michael didn’t know what to do either.
He was just a kid. The only way he knew how to survive the crushing weight of abandonment was to burn it down. Don’t think of him. Don’t love him. Don’t need him.
As long as he hated his father, the burning rage would drown out the agonizing pain. Hatred was a shield. Hatred erased the longing.
Michael stopped walking. He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles cracked. He glared up at Nathan, his eyes completely red.
“Just stop loving her!” he screamed over the howling wind. “She’s not coming back! Never! She’s the one who abandoned you! She wronged you! So hate her! Just hate her! If you hate her, you won’t miss her! If you hate her, you won’t have to wait anymore!”
Tears began to stream down Michael’s freezing face. His voice cracked violently as he sobbed. “Do you understand? Don’t love her! Hate her!”
Nathan stared at the hysterical, sobbing boy.
He didn’t argue. He didn’t get angry. He simply stepped closer, raised his arm, and pulled Michael firmly into his chest, wrapping his coat around the boy’s trembling shoulders. He rested his hand on the back of Michael’s head, holding him tight.
Michael buried his face in Nathan’s coat and wept uncontrollably, screaming his own grief into the fabric.
Nathan’s own eyes were burning, wet tears slipping down his cold cheeks. But he kept his voice soft and steady, rocking the boy gently.
“They’ll come back, Michael. They will. Maybe when the snow finally stops, they’ll come home to us.”
“No!” Michael violently shoved Nathan away, breaking the embrace. He staggered backward, wiping his face furiously.
He didn’t believe it.
In this entire cursed world, only Nathan Archer was foolish enough to still believe they would return. Only a man this stubbornly, hopelessly kind could survive on that kind of delusion.
“Stop being stupid! It’s impossible!” Michael screamed, his face twisted in a vicious sneer to hide his heartbreak. “Stop fantasizing! They’re dead!”
Without waiting for an answer, Michael turned and bolted into the blizzard, sprinting blindly back toward his house. He scrambled up the steps, tore the front door open, and slammed it shut behind him, locking it tight.
He left Nathan standing entirely alone in the vast, howling storm.
Nathan didn’t move. He stood perfectly still on the frozen pavement, staring blankly at the door Michael had just slammed.
The heavy snowflakes drifted down, settling on the black silk of his umbrella and the shoulders of his dark coat. The melted snow in his hair began to freeze again, forming tiny, glittering ice crystals that clung to his dark lashes and brows.
He stood there until he was almost entirely buried in white.
Then, very slowly, he turned around and walked step by step down the long, empty road, his solitary figure slowly disappearing into the biting, icy dark.