Julien’s truck moved slowly along the icy road, its headlights piercing the thick curtains of swirling snow. The world outside was bleak and frigid, but inside the cabin, the gentle hum of the heater and the warm glow of the dashboard created a comfortable atmosphere.

Hanging from the rearview mirror was a small photo of Élodie, his wife, or at least it had been when he left for this two-month trip. He ran his finger along the edges of the frame and smiled. Christmas was just a few days away. He was finally coming home.

In the glove compartment was a small velvet box. Inside, on a piece of black satin, lay a gold snowflake necklace: delicate and shiny, just like her. She’d spent hours choosing it. Something told her this gift would make her cry with joy.

He parked his truck near the outskirts of town and decided to walk the last mile to his apartment. Snowflakes dusted his shoulders as he strolled between garlanded streetlights and illuminated storefronts. Families bustled about with shopping bags, laughter, and Christmas cheer. Julien felt lighter than he had in weeks.

When he arrived at her building, he took a deep breath, rang the bell a few times… and then stepped aside to hide, hoping to surprise her like old times.

But nobody came.

Minutes passed. The cold began to bite. He called again. Nothing.

Julien frowned, took out his keys and went inside.

“Elodie? I’m home!” she shouted happily, crossing the door.

Silence.

The furniture was covered in dust. His coat was gone from the coat rack. The air smelled stale.

And then he saw it: a folded note on the kitchen counter.

I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I realized I deserved better. I met someone else. Now I’m happy. I hope you can be happy too. Goodbye.

He stared at the page. At first, he didn’t understand the words.

Bye bye.

Just one word, but it shattered something inside him.

He crumpled the note in his fist and threw it across the room. The velvet case fell out of his jacket pocket and landed on the floor, unopened.

The next few days passed in a blur. Julien barely ate. He sat on the couch for hours, staring at the wall. Bottles were lined up on the table. He replayed every conversation, every kiss, wondering what he’d missed.

At night, her voice haunted him. He woke up thinking she’d returned, only to find cold sheets and silence.

On Christmas Eve, Julien stood on the balcony, swaying in the wind, half drunk, tears frozen on his face. He had no family. He had grown up in foster care, moving from home to home. Élodie had been the only person he considered home.

And now even she was gone.

But before the darkness could claim him, a blow knocked him back.

It was Mr. Ferrand, his elderly neighbor, carrying a thermos of hot cider and a kind but firm look.

“I came to wish you a Merry Christmas,” the old man said in a low voice. “And perhaps to prevent you from doing something stupid.”

Julien let him in.

The two men remained silent for a while. Then Julien spoke.

—I gave him everything. Maybe I wasn’t enough. I never learned to love.

Mr. Ferrand was unfazed.

—Listen to me, Julien. Some people promise forever, but they just mean “until it gets tough.” She left because she didn’t deserve the life you offered her. Don’t mourn someone who’s gone. You deserve someone who stays.

Those words didn’t fix him, but they had a profound impact. Like a light turning on in a long-abandoned room.

That same night, Julien packed up his sorrows and hit the road again.

Two weeks later, on a cold January morning, Julien was passing through a small town when the gas gauge dropped dangerously low. A sign announced a gas station up ahead.

He got in, the engine roaring in the cold. As he reached for the door handle, it flew open, hitting him against the forehead.

— “Ow! What…?”

At the door stood a young gas station attendant, his face pale with panic.

—Sir! I need help, please! A woman is in labor in here, and I don’t know what to do!

Julien blinked, stunned. But within seconds, he was following the man inside.

On the ground, a woman lay curled up in agony, breathing raggedly and frantically. She stared at Julien with glassy eyes.

“Marc?” she whispered. “Are you alive?”

Julien froze. The name meant nothing to him. He assumed he was hallucinating from the pain.

—No, I’m Julien. I’m here to help you.

There was no time for explanations. He helped her into his truck, which was heated and had enough space to lay her down. The nearest hospital was twenty minutes away, and an ambulance wouldn’t arrive in time on those icy roads.

With trembling hands, he drove, speaking softly to her the whole way.

– “What is your name?”

—Claire… —he gasped.

—Claire, you’re safe now. Hold on a little longer.

Miraculously, they arrived at the hospital just in time. The nurses quickly took her away, and Julien collapsed in the waiting room chair, still in shock.

He had saved a woman and her baby. But her words echoed in his mind.

Marc. You’re alive.

The next day, Julien returned to the hospital to check on Claire. The nurse smiled as she approached.

—You’re back! Come meet your son. He looks just like you.

Julien blinked.

— “I’m not your husband—”

But the nurse had already taken him to Claire’s room.

Claire sat up, her face pale but serene. The sight of him took her breath away.

—Marc… —she whispered.

Julien opened his mouth to correct her, but something stopped him. The way she looked at him—with wonder, love, confusion—was… familiar.

“I’m not Marc,” he said sweetly. “My name is Julien.”

Claire blinked. Her face changed: first disbelief, then understanding. Tears filled her eyes.

—“You… you look a lot like him…”

Julien knelt beside her.

—Tell me about Marc. Please.

She told him everything. Marc had been her husband. Kind. Brave. Her anchor. He disappeared two years ago during a fishing weekend with a friend named Luc.

Marc never returned.

Luc had returned with a cold excuse: Marc had drowned. No body, no closure. Claire had cried, but something didn’t add up. Luc kept visiting. Over time, his visits turned into threats.

When Claire discovered she was pregnant, Luc became obsessed.

Scared, she ran away. Her car broke down, and she ended up at the gas station, exhausted, scared, and alone.

Until Julien appeared.

 

Julien left the hospital in a daze. Claire’s words tormented him.

He decided to visit the foster home where he had grown up. The head manager, a kind woman named Marie, welcomed him.

“I need to ask you something strange,” he said. “Is it possible that I had a twin?”

Marie paled.

—Julien… yes. You and Marc were twins. Identical. But we didn’t have the space to keep you together. He was adopted at three months old. You weren’t.

Julien sat up, stunned. His chest ached. All his life, he’d felt like something was missing; now he knew why.

Marc had grown up in one family. Julien had lived in different homes. And now, fate had led him to Marc’s wife—his unborn nephew—and perhaps a second chance.

Julien returned to Claire’s house to help her settle in. A photo by the fireplace confirmed everything: Marc, smiling, was her mirror image.

As they shared stories, Claire and Julien realized how much the siblings were alike. And the danger that still lurked: Luc hadn’t given up.

Then, late one night, there was a knock at the door.

Claire froze.

Julien opened it and found Luc standing there, older now, but intense. He narrowed his eyes at Julien.

“Marc?” she whispered, taking a step back.

Julien didn’t correct him. Instead, he took a step forward.

—Yes. I’m back. And you have some explaining to do.

Luc’s face paled like a ghost. He stammered and backed away. Julien, filming with his phone, insisted.

— “Tell me what really happened that night.”

Luc, overwhelmed and panicking, confessed. He had pushed Marc after a fight on the riverbank; it wasn’t planned, but it was real. When Marc didn’t emerge, Luc fled. And then he tried to fill the void by controlling Claire.

Julien handed the recording over to the police. Combined with the fishermen’s statements and phone records, Luc was found guilty and sentenced to twelve years in prison.

With Luc behind bars, Claire was finally free.

Julien helped her reopen the garage Marc had owned. They worked side by side, raising baby Léo and healing together. Little by little, what began as a shared grief grew into something deeper: a bond forged by destiny.

At Christmas, they were together under the same garlands that Julien had walked under only once.

This time he didn’t carry a velvet box for someone who didn’t love him.

I was holding Claire’s hand.

They were married at Mr. Ferrand’s house, under the bright Christmas lights and a starry sky. The old man toasted them, beaming with pride.

—Life doesn’t always give us what we want. But sometimes, it gives us what we didn’t know we needed.

Léo walked around the tree, laughing and pulling at the ornaments.

Julien, who previously had no family, now had a wife, a son, and a home full of laughter.

She glanced at the photo of Marc that now hung in the hallway.

“Thanks, brother,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of it here.”

Sometimes the coldest, loneliest roads lead to the warmest destinations.