Chapter 1

My father was obsessed with his toxic, hardcore style of tough-love parenting.

When I was a kid and brought home straight A’s, he sneered and said, “Grades don’t mean shit. A real man proves himself by jumping off the third floor.”

When I got a community award for saving a drowning child, he scoffed, “You didn’t even get a scratch. What kind of coward wants praise for that?”

For years, I believed he only did this to make me stronger.

Until that freezing New Year’s Eve, when he dumped me alone on a snow-covered mountain in the middle of a blizzard under the guise of an endurance test.

He gave me no tent, no matches, and no emergency flares.

Back at the warm family dinner, he bragged proudly to all the relatives about his alpha-male parenting.

“A real man is reborn in the face of death! I told him straight up, if he doesn’t hike all the way back to the summit lodge tonight, he’s no son of mine!”

He didn’t know that the red GPS dot tracking my location on his phone hadn’t moved for three whole hours.

I had already frozen to death in the snowdrift, clutching a torn scrap of paper in my stiffened fingers.

Now, my spirit hovered above the dining table, watching him brag about how to break a boy into a man.

1

My father glanced down at his phone, the smug grin on his face widening.

“Look at that. Hasn’t moved for two hours.”

He shoved the glowing screen into Uncle Hank’s face, tapping aggressively on the stationary red dot.

“The boy is throwing a tantrum. He’s probably hiding under some wind shelter, sulking and taking a nap.”

“I know him better than anyone. He’s just like his mother―a soft, pathetic quitter who cowers the second things get tough.”

“I made it crystal clear to him. If he doesn’t reach the summit by midnight, his college tuition and allowance are gone for the rest of the year.”

Floating above the steaming dishes, I felt a bitter chill run through my spectral chest.

The blizzard had rolled in far too fast, blinding me in whiteout conditions.

Severe hypothermia had triggered paradoxical undressing, causing me to strip off the thin windbreaker he had tossed me before driving off.

In my final moments, I had still foolishly prayed that my father would realize his mistake and come back for me.

Aunt Brenda pulled her cardigan tighter around her shoulders, glancing out the window at the roaring storm.

“Garrison, that wind is howling like crazy out there. The local news issued a severe blizzard warning. Is Ethan wearing enough layers?”

Father swallowed a mouthful of roast beef, washing it down with a heavy gulp of bourbon.

“I gave him a shell jacket and thermal underwear. That’s more than enough.”

“A man needs to build cold tolerance. Back in the day when I was in boot camp, I ran five miles shirtless in sub-zero weather. That’s what real men do.”

I let out a hollow laugh in the empty air.

His famous shirtless five-mile run was nothing more than a drunken lie he cooked up after getting discharged.

He took his own fabricated bravado as gospel truth, and then ruthlessly forced it down my throat.

Dad, I’m dead.

Frozen completely solid.

I drifted down right in front of his flushed face.

I wanted to tell him that I had tried so hard to push through, crawling on my hands and knees until my skin tore open.

My lungs felt as if they were bursting with every breath, each inhalation cutting down my throat like jagged glass.

I had lost all feeling in my feet hours ago because he forced me to wear those thin, cheap trail shoes to build mental fortitude.

I opened my mouth, screaming straight into his eyes.

“Dad! I’m freezing! I’m really freezing to death!”

He muttered under his breath, unlocked his phone, and held down the voice message button.

“Ethan, cut the crap. I see your GPS sitting still. You think a silent protest is going to make me budge?”

“Let me tell you right now, it won’t work! If you’re not at the summit by midnight, don’t bother going back to that fancy college.”

“I’ll have you hauling drywall at the construction site tomorrow!”

He released his thumb, and the message sent into the void.

I stared at our chat history.

The last message I sent him was three hours ago:

“Dad, I can’t breathe. Is my inhaler in your truck? I think I left it behind.”

His reply had been swift and merciless:

“An inhaler? I threw it in the trash. That’s a crutch for weaklings. Hold your breath and suck it up.”

That was the exact second all hope shattered inside me.

I had dragged myself through the snow in absolute despair until the very last spark of warmth drained from my body.

Looking at the man I had called Dad for twenty years, I felt only a horrifying estrangement.

This was my father.

To him, my life was worth less than a side dish on the table, less than a cheap boast to feed his pathetic ego.

I turned to look out the frosted window.

Out there in the pitch-black wilderness, my corpse was turning into a block of solid ice.

While in here, glasses clinked in festive cheer and delicious aromas filled the air.

Dad, since you love survival tests and desperate struggles so much...

You’re going to love the New Year’s gift I left behind for you.