Winter's Destiny Read Online Free
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Her mother’s handwriting leapt from the first page. Amy’s birth was recorded as 12:12 a.m. June 2nd, thirty-two years earlier in Beaverdale, a small town southwest of Portland.
A tiny footprint, a miniature handprint, and a clipping of platinum hair, like Jamie’s, attested to her fragile beginning. Further along, old photos of a scrunched little face stared back at her. “Pixie,” she said involuntarily, recalling her old nickname.
Photo after photo recorded her growth and development. The infant blossomed into a toddler with a head of flaxen curls and a mischievous smile, also like Jamie’s. Amy thumbed through the pages and swallowed hard when a 5x7 photo of her parents jumped from the page. She wanted to snap the book closed to protect herself from the memories. No!
Inhaling deeply, she willed herself to continue. Quickly, she turned the page. This time it was a photo of her dad that stopped her. He’d been gangly and fun loving in his youth, but over the years he’d changed. He had matured into a wonderful, confident, caring man . A deep, dark sadness welled up in her . If only… No! Don’t think about it.
Her finger slid across to an enlargement of her mom--young and vibrant--cradling Amy lovingly in her arms. Photos depicted the years passing happily. Finally, Amy came to the last and final family photo. Her father, his hand on her shoulder, beamed proudly. Her mom had both arms around her. Suddenly, Amy was in the room with them. She could feel the warmth of her father’s strong hand, mother’s excitement, and their protective love. Her mother’s hearty laughter rang in Amy’s ears. “Oh, Mom.” Amy pressed the book close to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut. “Dad,” she whispered. "I miss you both so much." The album slipped from her hands…and she wept.
Memories overwhelmed her, memories she had carefully locked out for years. Her father’s excitement at her accomplishments, her mom’s warm embrace, and days filled with wonder and joy. She had loved her parents with all her young being. Then, suddenly, they were gone. Obliterated. A horrific accident. Bodies so mangled that closed coffins were necessary. She’d never had the chance to see her parents one last time and say her goodbye . Amy could never get past that. A single word, but so important.
A year of her teenage life disappeared. She fell into an abyss of darkness, grief, and crippling heartache. It was like being hit by a truck at full speed. Her soul had been crushed.
Amy recalled the premonition that haunted her for days before their accident. Afterward, she’d wished she could have deciphered the strange, ominous feeling. Had she been able to do that, she may have found a way to save their lives. Finally, Amy wiped her tears and pulled the album back into her lap. Her mother’s photo stared up at her. Her beauty held an astral quality. Had it foretold her fate?
Amy was hit by the realization, that at age thirty-two, Amy now looked almost exactly like her mom at the time of the photo. Amy pushed herself off the carpet and walked to the fireplace mantle where there was a recent photo of herself. She pulled it out of the frame and returned quickly to the library where she placed it beside her mom’s. She stared in astonishment. We’re almost identical!
And now—there’s three of us...
Amy thumbed through the baby book again, reading the captions her mother had written. Then, one by one Amy searched each family album for a clue to the existence of the woman she had seen at the window. There wasn’t a sign of another child who resembled Amy.
Hours later, Dan’s disgruntled voice awoke her. “What the hell are you doing down here?”
Her eyes flew open. Light streamed in the windows, rays dancing across her face. She squeezed her eyes closed, and sat up, trying to understand what she was doing on the rug in the library. When she remembered, a heaviness re-settled over her.
She trailed Dan into the
Her mother’s handwriting leapt from the first page. Amy’s birth was recorded as 12:12 a.m. June 2nd, thirty-two years earlier in Beaverdale, a small town southwest of Portland.
A tiny footprint, a miniature handprint, and a clipping of platinum hair, like Jamie’s, attested to her fragile beginning. Further along, old photos of a scrunched little face stared back at her. “Pixie,” she said involuntarily, recalling her old nickname.
Photo after photo recorded her growth and development. The infant blossomed into a toddler with a head of flaxen curls and a mischievous smile, also like Jamie’s. Amy thumbed through the pages and swallowed hard when a 5x7 photo of her parents jumped from the page. She wanted to snap the book closed to protect herself from the memories. No!
Inhaling deeply, she willed herself to continue. Quickly, she turned the page. This time it was a photo of her dad that stopped her. He’d been gangly and fun loving in his youth, but over the years he’d changed. He had matured into a wonderful, confident, caring man . A deep, dark sadness welled up in her . If only… No! Don’t think about it.
Her finger slid across to an enlargement of her mom--young and vibrant--cradling Amy lovingly in her arms. Photos depicted the years passing happily. Finally, Amy came to the last and final family photo. Her father, his hand on her shoulder, beamed proudly. Her mom had both arms around her. Suddenly, Amy was in the room with them. She could feel the warmth of her father’s strong hand, mother’s excitement, and their protective love. Her mother’s hearty laughter rang in Amy’s ears. “Oh, Mom.” Amy pressed the book close to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut. “Dad,” she whispered. "I miss you both so much." The album slipped from her hands…and she wept.
Memories overwhelmed her, memories she had carefully locked out for years. Her father’s excitement at her accomplishments, her mom’s warm embrace, and days filled with wonder and joy. She had loved her parents with all her young being. Then, suddenly, they were gone. Obliterated. A horrific accident. Bodies so mangled that closed coffins were necessary. She’d never had the chance to see her parents one last time and say her goodbye . Amy could never get past that. A single word, but so important.
A year of her teenage life disappeared. She fell into an abyss of darkness, grief, and crippling heartache. It was like being hit by a truck at full speed. Her soul had been crushed.
Amy recalled the premonition that haunted her for days before their accident. Afterward, she’d wished she could have deciphered the strange, ominous feeling. Had she been able to do that, she may have found a way to save their lives. Finally, Amy wiped her tears and pulled the album back into her lap. Her mother’s photo stared up at her. Her beauty held an astral quality. Had it foretold her fate?
Amy was hit by the realization, that at age thirty-two, Amy now looked almost exactly like her mom at the time of the photo. Amy pushed herself off the carpet and walked to the fireplace mantle where there was a recent photo of herself. She pulled it out of the frame and returned quickly to the library where she placed it beside her mom’s. She stared in astonishment. We’re almost identical!
And now—there’s three of us...
Amy thumbed through the baby book again, reading the captions her mother had written. Then, one by one Amy searched each family album for a clue to the existence of the woman she had seen at the window. There wasn’t a sign of another child who resembled Amy.
Hours later, Dan’s disgruntled voice awoke her. “What the hell are you doing down here?”
Her eyes flew open. Light streamed in the windows, rays dancing across her face. She squeezed her eyes closed, and sat up, trying to understand what she was doing on the rug in the library. When she remembered, a heaviness re-settled over her.
She trailed Dan into the
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