Winter Sparrow by Estevan Vega

nearly paralyzed. More tears were spilled. His tears did not belong here. Neither did she.
The wing still felt peculiar sliding around in her back. Like it was getting comfortable there. The other wing didn’t come. She wasn’t sure if it ever would, but right now, she knew she had to get away from here. She wasn’t ready for the answers. She wasn’t ready for any of this.
When Joshua turned around to walk toward the mansion, Mary sprang to her feet and started running. Some blisters on her heel popped. She winced but didn’t slow. The pain spreading in her toes was nothing. The icy snow igniting her skin was nothing. Their love was…
Don’t , she begged her conscience. Don’t say it.
“Nothing.”

WHEN MARY RETURNED TO THE place where she’d woken up, the man who had slept beside her was waiting for her, sipping a glass of wine. Fine, classical music filled the room. She entered cautiously. Her hands still trembled, and a bit of mud remained on her cheek from a fall she suffered a few miles back. Mary counted the seconds. She couldn’t catch her breath.
“Where were you?” the man asked.
Her eyes wandered then came back and met his. She still could not recall his name.
“I asked you a question.”
“I went for a run,” she said quietly.
“A run? In the middle of winter? Dressed like that and barefoot? It’s getting worse.”
Mary ignored the cruel shivers.
The man took another sip of his wine before rising to greet her. “Well, I’m just glad you made it safely back to me, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart? She didn’t like the way his voice made that term of endearment sound. The word slithered out and carried poison with it.
He stepped toward her, and she leaned back against the door. She preferred the distance. He stroked her chin. “There, there. You look as though you’ve seen a ghost. Don’t you recognize me?”
She didn’t answer.
“I know that look. I saw that same look when I watched you in the garden this morning. Like you don’t belong. Like you don’t know who you are.”
Mary blinked, a lot. Her nostrils flared. Her hands touched the door, and she could feel a draft coming through.
“Mary, it’s me. Lucas.”
“Lucas?” she repeated, puzzled still.
“Your husband.”
“My husband,” she said, reminded once more of the ring that clothed her finger.
“My goodness. I knew I never should’ve let you leave again. All this time…I’ll have you know, it was always against my better judgment.” He paced the floor. “It’s been snowing since you left. Are you trying to get sick? The cold temperatures aren’t good for you, especially considering…your condition.”
“Condition?”
Lucas spent a moment collecting his thoughts. “The accident, Mary. You haven’t been well for some time. From your fevers to your memory loss. Amnesia. I’ve been waiting for you to regain your true self, all of you, for a long time. Only I and the best doctors have taken care of you, but they said you would heal eventually, if I let things simply play out.”
“The accident?” She now remembered the accident, a part of it. She felt a sharp pain twist through her leg, her arms, her wrist. “How long has it been?”
Lucas sighed and kissed her cheek. “Three years.”
The ground had to be shaking under her feet. In the next few blinks, this massive house would come crashing down upon them both and she’d finally wake up. The wing in her back would vanish and the wound would shut up. And this fiend would be silenced.
Lucas reached for her hand.
“Don’t touch me,” she spat.
“Why are you so hostile?”
“Lucas?” she said, the name still very much a stranger on her lips. “Is this a trick?”
He shook his head with dim eyes.
Three years? How had so much time passed? Could seasons last like this? Could a winter endure so long? Her mind swam.
“I knew the risk when I took you as my own. I understood that your memory might come and go. You hit your head so hard in the crash, Mary. The trauma, the