Outside Work We... •[TNN One-shots]•

Uncovered Secrets •|| WINTUMN ||•

Prompt: Winter accidentally uncovers a secret that Autumn hid from him while clearing out the basement.

[TW: MENTIONS OF DEATH]

(READ WITH CAUTION!!!)

Winter's footsteps echoed softly as he descended into the basement, his breath visible in the cool, musty air. The shelves lining the walls were packed with forgotten boxes and odds and ends from a life well-lived but rarely revisited. With Autumn working her usual shift at the nursery, Winter had decided to make use of his rare day off to start the daunting task of packing for their move.

Most of the boxes were predictable—old holiday decorations, childhood memorabilia, and tools neither of them had touched in years. But in the corner, beneath a tarp coated in dust, Winter's hand brushed against something unusual.

A suitcase.

Its brown leather exterior was worn, and the metal clasps were tarnished with age. He hesitated, brushing off a layer of grime before opening it. Curiosity bloomed as he pried the case open, the faint creak of hinges filling the silence.

The first thing he saw stopped him cold: a wedding photo.

Autumn was there, radiant in white, standing beside a man Winter didn't recognize. The man's arm was wrapped around her, and both of them beamed with happiness. A happiness he had never seen his wife show in public. Winter's stomach churned as he lifted the picture frame, revealing more items beneath it. A shoebox caught his attention, filled to the brim with photos of Autumn, the man, and a little girl with curly hair and sparkling eyes.

He dug further, uncovering a ring box, old letters tied with a faded ribbon, a few articles of clothing, and finally, a worn teddy bear covered in spatters of red. The bear's button eyes seemed to stare back at him, heavy with untold stories.

Winter sat back on his heels, staring at the open suitcase. Questions swirled in his mind, each louder than the last. Who were they? Why didn't she mention anything about it?

He carried the suitcase upstairs and placed it on the living room coffee table. Then he sat on the couch, staring at the door, waiting.

°•°•°--**--°•°•°

The door clicked open hours later, and Autumn's voice carried through the hallway. "My sweet, I'm home! Did you get a lot done today?"

"In a way," Winter replied, his voice tight.

Autumn stepped into the living room, her coat half-off, and froze. Her gaze locked on the suitcase, now prominently displayed in the middle of the room.

The color drained from her face. "Where...where did you find that?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"In the basement," Winter said, standing. "I thought we didn't have secrets, my love."

Her hands trembled as she clutched the back of a chair for support. "It's...not what you think."

"Then what is it?" Winter snapped, his frustration spilling over. "You've been hiding an entire life from me—a wedding, a child. I deserve to at least know the truth!"

"You don't understand!" Autumn shot back, her voice cracking as she struggled to keep her composure.

"Then help me understand!" Winter pleaded.

But Autumn shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. "I can't."

The room was suffocating, the air thick with tension. Winter ran a hand through his hair, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Why, Autumn? Why can't you trust me with this?"

"Because it hurts too much," she said, her voice breaking completely. And then, before he could stop her, she grabbed her keys and stormed out the door.

°•°•°--**--°•°•°

The drive was a blur of headlights and dark roads. Autumn barely noticed the icy wind whipping through her open window as she arrived at the beach. She climbed the rocky path to the cliff she'd come to so many times before.

Sitting at the edge, her legs dangling over the rocks, she hugged herself tightly against the cold. The ocean roared beneath her, its waves crashing with relentless force.

Memories flooded back unbidden. The little girl's laugh as she spun in circles with her teddy bear. Her first husband's arm draped protectively over her shoulders. And then, the sound that shattered everything: gunfire.

She could still see the balloons popping, her daughter's birthday cake splattered with red. She had survived, but her family hadn't. The drive-by shooting had been meant for her—a petty grudge someone had nursed for years.

Her shoulders shook with sobs as guilt twisted in her chest like a knife. It's my fault. If I hadn't made enemies, they'd still be alive.

°•°•°--**--°•°•°

Back at the house, Winter sat on the couch, staring at the suitcase. His anger had cooled, replaced by a gnawing sense of regret. He had pushed too hard, too fast. Whatever this was, it clearly wasn't something Autumn had buried lightly.

His phone buzzed. A location ping—Autumn's. Without hesitation, he grabbed his coat and keys and followed.

°•°•°--**--°•°•°

The sight of her on the cliff broke him. She looked so small, so fragile, her hair whipping in the wind like lighting against the dark sky.

"My love!" he called, running toward her.

She didn't turn, but he could hear her ragged breathing as he knelt beside her. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to push you. I just—"

"I loved them," she whispered, cutting him off.

He froze.

"My first husband, Alex. My daughter, Aria." Her voice wavered. "They were my whole world, Winter. And they were taken from me because of mistakes I made."

Winter's chest tightened. "You were married before?"

She nodded. "It was a long time ago. I didn't want to burden you with my past. It's easier to pretend it never happened than to face the guilt every day."

"You're not burdening me," Winter said, his voice firm. "You're my wife, my love. Whatever you carry, I'll carry it with you. But I can't help if you won't let me in."

Her tears flowed freely now, and she turned to him, burying her face in his chest. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just didn't know how to tell you."

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as the waves crashed below. "We'll get through this. Together."

For the first time in years, Autumn allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't alone in her grief.