Chapter 3 - The Coldest Winter
Daniel sat inside his sedan, the engine idling, blowing tepid air across his numb knuckles. He rested his forehead against the steering wheel, his mind spinning backward through the last two years. How had he been so blind?
In Columbus, his life had felt effortless at first. His high-rise apartment had polished concrete floors, tall panoramic windows, and sleek granite countertops. There were no dirty laundry hampers spilling onto hallways, no frantic morning runs for forgotten lunchboxes, no crying over spilled milk or burnt toast. When his coworkers invited him for craft beers on Thursday evenings, he went without checking his watch. He had called it freedom. He had convinced himself that he was a modern father taking time for his mental health, convincing himself that a father who was happy in his own skin was better than a father trapped in suburban misery.
Now, the bitter truth hit him like a physical blow. His freedom had been purchased with Joanna’s suffering.
He remembered the second winter. It was November when Joanna had texted him a picture of Owen’s worn-out sneakers with holes worn clean through the rubber toes. Owen was nine then, growing fast. Daniel had replied that his own car insurance was due and that boys didn't need designer athletic shoes anyway. He had bought himself a new pair of Italian leather boots that very weekend, telling himself he needed them for client presentations.
Daniel opened his glove compartment and pulled out an old brown notebook where he had scribbled family dates, policy numbers, and emergency contacts years ago. He flipped through the yellowed pages until he saw the name of Dr. Paul Miller, Joanna’s former employer at the dental clinic. If anyone knew where Joanna had transferred her dental credentials, it would be the clinic.
Daniel drove into the commercial center of town, his heart hammering against his ribs. The dental practice occupied the same brick building near the town square. Stepping through the glass doors, he heard the familiar hum of the ultrasonic instruments and the gentle chime of receptionist bells.
A young woman with a neat ponytail looked up from behind the reception desk. ""Welcome to Oakridge Dental. Do you have an appointment?""
""No, I’m... I’m looking for Dr. Miller. My name is Daniel Mercer. My wife, Joanna, used to work here.""
The receptionist’s polite expression instantly froze. Her eyes shifted toward the office hallway behind her. ""Wait here a moment, please.""
Two minutes later, an older man with gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses walked into the reception lobby. Dr. Miller didn't extend his hand. He looked at Daniel with tired, unimpressed eyes.
""Daniel,"" the doctor said evenly. ""I never expected to see you in this county again.""
""Dr. Miller. I’m trying to find Joanna. Her phone is off, and the house is sold. I just need an address. An email. Anything.""
Dr. Miller folded his hands across his white lab coat. ""Joanna was the best office administrator this clinic ever had. When you walked out on her, she didn't complain to anyone. She showed up thirty minutes early every morning, stayed two hours late, and never let her personal heartbreak show in front of our patients. But I watched her hands tremble while drinking black coffee for lunch because she wouldn't spend five dollars on a sandwich.""
""I didn't know,"" Daniel whispered miserably.
""You chose not to know,"" Dr. Miller countered bluntly. ""She left this clinic seven months ago. A large pediatric health network in Erie offered her a managerial post. She took the children and moved north to build a stable life with actual medical benefits and a retirement plan. Before she left, she specifically asked me never to share her records or contact details if you ever came looking.""
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""Please, Dr. Miller,"" Daniel begged, stepping closer, humiliation burning his cheeks. ""Owen and Lucy are my children. I made terrible mistakes, but I have a right to see them.""
""Rights come with responsibilities, son,"" Dr. Miller said quietly. ""If you really want to find them, you'll have to do the work yourself. But ask yourself this first: are you looking for them to help them, or just to make yourself feel less like a coward?""
