No answer, of course. But the baby’s presence—the steady reminder that she wasn’t alone anymore, would never truly be alone again—gave her courage. She’d figure it all out. Thearchives. Her ancestor’s story. Her own place in this quirky town. And Victor. Eventually.
Chloe moved to the window to check the timer on her phone and stopped.
“Oh.”
Snow fell in thick sheets outside. Not the gentle dusting she’d vaguely registered earlier but a full-blown storm. The pine trees across the clearing bent under wind that howled loud enough to hear through the glass.
When had that happened?
She peered through the window, trying to see her car. The driveway was barely visible through the snow. Everything was white—ground, air, trees all blending into an indistinct wall. Her stomach tightened. What had the forecast said? She’d been so lost in thoughts of Victor that she’d barely paid attention to the weather report. She grabbed her phone and pulled up the weather app.
Blizzard Warning. Heavy snow is expected through tomorrow morning with high winds and 24-36 inches of accumulation. Avoid travel.
Thirty-six inches. Three feet of snow. And she was on a dead-end road outside of the town limits.
“It’s fine,” she told herself, ignoring the sudden spike of anxiety. “I’ll just… stay put.”
She moved through the cabin mentally cataloging supplies. The soup simmering on the stove would be enough to last for several days. She had plenty of canned goods in the pantry. The cabin had a generator, and the rental agent had shown her how tooperate when she moved in—not that she’d actually tried to get it started.
There was a load of firewood stacked outside the back door, and she had candles, a flashlight, and extra batteries. She was prepared, completely prepared.
The lights flickered, and her breath caught. The lights steadied, then flickered again before staying on.It’s just the wind, she told herself.Nothing to worry about.But her hand settled protectively over her belly anyway. The baby kicked, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. They’d weather the storm together.
She returned to the kitchen and stirred the soup. She tasted it and added a little more salt and pepper, trying to take comfort in her normal activities. Outside, the wind shrieked and something heavy crashed in the distance. A branch, probably. Or a whole tree.
It’s fine.The cabin was solid and well-built. According to the rental agreement, it had been here for decades. One blizzard wasn’t going to change that.
She ladled soup into a bowl and carried it to the couch, trying to decide if she should call someone. Victor, a voice whispered, but she immediately rejected it. He wanted distance and that’s what she’d give him. Ginger? Maybe, but she didn’t want the other woman to think she needed help.
The soup was perfect—rich and warming, with just enough herbs to make it interesting. Her great-grandmother would have approved. The baby seemed to approve too, making gentle little movements.
“See, little bean?” she said. “We’re fine. Perfectly safe and?—”
The lights went out again, and this time they didn’t come back on. Complete darkness descended for three heartbeats before her eyes adjusted. It wasn’t totally dark after all—the fireplace provided some illumination, and grey winter light filtered through the windows despite the storm. But the sudden absence of electric hum made the cabin feel smaller and infinitely more isolated. She set down her soup with shaking hands.
The generator. She needed to start the generator.
She’d watched the rental agent demonstrate it. She knew the process and she was pretty sure she could duplicate it. But the generator was located in a small shed behind the cabin, maybe twenty feet from the back door.
Twenty feet through a blizzard. While seven and a half months pregnant.
She curved a protective hand over her stomach. “What do you think? Risk it now or wait to see if the power comes back?”
The baby didn’t answer, but her practical side told her to wait. The cabin was warm enough for now with the fireplace, and she had plenty of candles. Wading through knee-deep snow while pregnant seemed like an excellent way to fall and hurt herself. It would be better to wait until morning when the storm eased. Assuming it stopped by then.
She gathered candles and arranged them around the living room. The matches were right where she’d left them—in the drawer by the sink, next to the spare batteries and emergency radio. She lit the candles methodically, arranging them on the mantle and the side tables. The warm glow helped make the darkness less oppressive.
The fireplace crackled and she added another log. She had plenty of wood. She could keep the fire going all night if needed. See? Everything’s fine. But the howl of the wind seemed louder and more insistent now. And the cabin suddenly felt miles away from everyone instead of just outside town.
She pulled a blanket around her shoulders and settled back on the couch. The soup had helped, warming her from the inside. She had light, heat, and food—everything she needed to wait out the storm. Except company.
She immediately tried to push the thought away. She didn’t need Victor—anyone—here. She was perfectly capable of handling this on her own. But God, it would be nice not to be alone. The baby shifted and she rubbed her belly. “I know. We have each other. You’re just not much of a conversationalist yet.”
But the baby had to be enough, because Victor had made his choice. He’d decided fear mattered more than hope, and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—beg him to reconsider. She was willing to give him the time and space to work through whatever demons haunted him. To a certain extent. She wouldn’t wait forever. And she wouldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt.
She closed her eyes and listened to the storm rage outside. The wind howled and snow battered the windows. Something else crashed in the distance—another branch probably, weighted down by snow and ice.
The cabin held firm though. The walls were solid and the roof was strong. She was safe. They were safe. She repeated it like a mantra until the tension in her shoulders eased slightly.
