AN: So, I'm a little nervous about posting this because I haven't written anything like it before. It's going to be more Brooke-centric this time and confusing at times, but things will clear up as it goes on. This is just the prolouge and probably the shortest thing I've ever written, haha. Anyways, please tell me what you think and if it's worth continuing. Also, thank you to Nora...who is betaing for me!

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The snow fell from the sky, laying a thick, white blanket over the graveyard. After a while, it resembled a Winter Wonderland, something that once used to bring her joy. Now, as she stood in the freezing cold, listening to the old priest talk on and on about the deceased, the excited sensation she once felt for snow had quickly evaporated.

Winter would become her enemy; the season played the role of the grim reaper, robbing a life that hadn't had a chance to live life to its fullest.

There were soft whimpers coming from the small child huddled in her arms, unaware of the situation going on. Her tiny fingers were cold to the touch, snapping Brooke back into reality when she felt them up against her cheek. She quickly bent down and retrieved the fallen glove, slipping it on her daughter's left hand before fixing her gaze back to the mahogany casket.

Underneath the small pea coat, Avery was dressed in a bright-colored Easter dress with white leggings and red Mary-Jane shoes. What one and a half year old owned funeral clothes? She had stayed up the night before, choosing between her christening outfit and Easter dress, the bags under her eyes proving the chaotic situation from the previous day.

Glancing across the crowded cemetery, she caught her husband's gaze, turning away when his tears sparkled in the fading sunlight. They hadn't said one word to each other all morning, just a few mumbles about what time they had to be at the church and who was coming after. Next to him were his mother, uncle, brother, and five-year-old sister, who would make silly faces at her niece when she looked over.

She hadn't cried once during the funeral. It was as if she were dead inside, even though she could constantly feel her heart beat against her chest. Her pretty hazel eyes were hollow and dark, making her unrecognizable. Dressed in black, her hair was rested on her shoulder, the careless waves dancing in the wind.

After the priest was finished talking, signaling the end of the funeral, she watched Lucas take a few steps forward, silently pleading with her to follow him.

"No," she mouthed to him, burying her face into Avery's soft brown hair, swaying her back and forth when a tiny sob escaped her lips. She tried to find comfort in the faint scent of her child's shampoo, closing her eyes to envision all the struggles they had to get her in the bath.

"Brooke, go," her father's soft, but stern voice filled her ears, holding out his arms to take his only grandchild. Brooke shook her head, stepping to the side when her father placed a hand on her back. "You're going to regret this."

She wanted this to all be a bad dream.

Seven days ago, she was happy and in love. Now, she didn't even want to be in the same room as her husband or daughter.

After a moment, Brooke quickly disposed Avery into her father's arms, taking baby steps to the casket. Lucas had reached out his hand, but she refused to take it, pushing it away when he tried again.

"I can do it myself," she snapped, only for him to hear. He backed away, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Gathering the flowers in her hand, she took a shaky step forward, feeling her heart stop at the sight.

Her knees buckled and for the first time in a week, she broke into a fit of heavy sobs, throwing the flowers a few feet short of the casket before collapsing onto the snowy ground. The cold grass sent shivers up and down her spine, violent tremors taking over her body as Lucas carefully picked her up off her feet.

"It's okay," Lucas whispered into her ear, brushing off the snow that covered the lower half of her body. They both could hear Avery's soft cries, but Brooke refused to take her head off Lucas' chest. "Do you have anything to say?"

"Are you really asking me that?" Brooke's voice broke, pulling away from her husband's embrace. Her head shook from side to side, tears falling down in pools as she tried to brush off the sympathetic stares.

"I didn't know…"

Refusing to speak, Brooke took a step back and watched as they lowered the casket into the ground. She felt her whole world cave in once it was firmly placed in the ground, people bowing their heads to pay their last respects.

Once again, she sunk to the ground, her head falling into her hands as she sobbed freely, choking on the sobs rising in her throat.

"Just let me call and see how they are!"

"I'm sure everything is fine, Brooke. Just relax, okay?"

"Please, Luke? I'll only be two minutes!"

"No, Brooke! Relax and enjoy the night."

She couldn't blame, Lucas—she didn't want to—but as she shut out the people trying to comfort her, she hated him. She hated him for that night, she hated her friends for not being available and most of all, she hated Peyton.

It was all her fault and now, all she had were pictures and a tiny remembrance card to remind her of what she had lost. Nothing could bring her back, and January 10th was not only the day she laid someone she loved to rest; it was the day she lost herself, never to be found again.