One Last Promise

20260105

Written for Luna Asli Kolcu’s “Myths of Winter - Week 6” event.

CW: Reflections on having just lost a child.

Nobody remembered the god’s name. Only that they presided over promises and beginnings. The only remnant of them was at this time, the beginning of the year, where promises still froze and dropped from your lips like a perfect ice teardrop.
You could catch them. Hold them. They felt cold but wouldn’t melt. Not even if dropped into fire. It was only breaking the promise which turned them to water.
When Eric was a child, he’d often begged his father to promise him things at this time of year. His father would tuck the promise into a pocket “so I remember”.
It didn’t seem to help. The promises always turned to broken trust and soggy patches. Eventually Eric stopped asking for them.
Eventually he stopped talking to his father at all.
He always swore he wouldn’t be like that. That every promise he made to his child - and he wouldn’t be stingy with promises either - he would try his hardest to keep. So each year he sat down with Natasha and asked her what she wanted to do with him that year, then promised as many as he could.
The iced promises were poured into a pretty jar - and until this year, every one of them had been kept, crystallising into beautiful glass-like gems which glowed with a gentle light. It was Natty’s night-light. Eric loved how she treasured it.
He slowly turned the jar in his hand. Watching the water sloshing about at the bottom. Washing all the previous years’ promises with the dashed remains of this year’s.
Of course. All those promises had been broken at once, hadn’t they? He… was never going to be able to do any of those things with her now.
“Mr Cooper?” The nurse’s voice was gentle. As if worried what she might be drawing him out of.
“S-sorry, yes.” Eric tucked the ownerless nightlight into the bag. Along with the rest of Natty’s things which she’d needed to be… as comfortable as they could manage at the hospital.
Tabitha was probably done handling the administrative side of things. He shouldn’t make her wait.
“Oh, it’s fine!” The nurse rested a tentative, strangely apologetic hand on his shoulder. “I just wondered if you’d like some help?”
“No, no, I… I’m almost done here.”
Natty’s second- and third-favourite pyjamas. Her favourite pair… her lucky pair… were probably lost forever. He certainly didn’t want to face the surgical ward again to try and recover them.
It felt surreal - unreal - that a few hours ago he’d been in that waiting room with Tabby, having just kissed Natty goodbye. Assured her that she’d be fine. She was in good hands.
Which she had been. And he was sure the surgery team had done everything they could.
Finally the books Tabby had brought, so Natty could have a proper bedtime. Then the drawers were empty. Relatably hollow.
Eric hugged the bag to his chest and followed the nurse towards the lobby. The scent of Natty’s clothes, and knowing it was akin to a ghost, brought tears to his eyes. He could almost be hugging her, not merely what had been left behind.
He thought of her, smiling bravely as she waved goodbye, and of the promises he’d made to her while she lay in that hospital bed. And the ones he’d made before she’d been admitted. Back when they didn’t know his life was about to be smashed and hers would be stolen.
“You’re still my baby, and I will love you forever.” He whispered, and the promise dropped from his lips into his waiting palm. He held it tight. Let its chill and the feeling of its point digging into his palm focus his swirling mind.
He’d add it to the jar later. One last promise to keep.

Prompt was “Every oath spoken in deep winter freezes into a shard of ice that appears in your palm. You carry it until the promise is kept—or until it melts from broken trust, leaving only cold water and the memory of what you swore.”