"Yes. Yes, I did," he said. The chill of the winter began to crawl underneath his skin. Winter was an ugly season. Cold and damp while covered in white innocence. It pretended to be something it was not.
He stepped towards the window. He wasn't quite ready to let go of the warmth the robe had to offer and kept his arms pressed to his body. Soon enough it wasn't the white lands that captured his eye but the man that stared back at him. He looked like a sick and haunted version of himself. Skin far too pale and eyes far too hallow. He sighed. "I can barely recognise myself," he mumbled. She had to truly love him to leave America behind for a life that seemed to have nothing to offer.