One year later, the chalet looked different in the best way.
The great room had been expanded—two new wings added during the spring and summer, timber matching the original dark cedar, glass walls letting in more light than ever before.
A nursery now sat at the end of the east hall—pale blue walls with Mark’s stenciled constellations, five cribs lined up like little ships waiting for passengers, though only two were occupied so far.
The porch beam bore six names now, carved deep and permanent beneath the original Kane family mark: Fukky’s name etched beside theirs, the lines still fresh enough to smell faintly of sawdust when the wind blew right.
Christmas Eve arrived again—snow falling in the same thick, silent sheets that had once trapped her here.
But this time she wasn’t running f
