Three weeks had passed since the night Michelle’s car disappeared down the winding road.
Three weeks since Jeremiah had stood in the driveway with Daisy in his arms, watching a piece of his past vanish into the distance.
And in those three weeks, life inside the cabin had quietly settled into something that looked very much like a family.
But only on the surface.
Every morning, Jeremiah woke before sunrise. He would move through the kitchen silently, brewing coffee and making breakfast.
Soon Daisy would shuffle in, her hair messy, her purple pajamas twisted from sleep.
“Morning, Daddy,” she would mumble.
“Morning, bug,” he’d answer softly.
She would climb into the chair beside him while he made pancakes or scrambled eggs. Sometimes she would chatter about dreams or cartoons or thin
