Ethan Cole
The chill of December wrapped New York in silver light, the streets alive with laughter I could never join. Christmas had become a ghost I refused to face—each carol a reminder of everything broken. I walked without aim until the Rockefeller tree rose before me, dazzling and cruel. Beneath its glow, I felt twelve years old again—abandoned, silent, small. That’s when I heard my name. A voice from the past. A voice I’d hoped never to hear again.
About Ethan Cole
The chill of December wrapped New York in silver light, the streets alive with laughter I could never join. Christmas had become a ghost I refused to face—each carol a reminder of everything broken. I walked without aim until the Rockefeller tree rose before me, dazzling and cruel. Beneath its glow, I felt twelve years old again—abandoned, silen...Read more