By late November, the golden autumn leaves that had covered Westview were replaced by a quiet, silvery chill. The air outside carried the faint, crisp scent of woodsmoke, and by late afternoon, the first soft flakes of winter snow began to drift lazily down from a pale slate sky.
Inside the Morgan kitchen, the atmosphere was warm and filled with the mouth-watering aroma of chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven.
Lily sat at the wooden dining table, a hot mug of cider resting between her hands. Spread out in front of her were several college pamphlets and art program brochures. For months, the thought of the future had terrified her—the idea of moving on, leaving the familiar behind, or making the wrong choice. But now, looking at the bold headlines for regional arts and literature pro
