Chapter Four - The Light in the Dark
1056 Words
The cabin didn’t just go dark.
It vanished.
The sudden power outage swallowed the room whole, erasing the warm glow of the firelight and the soft cheer of Christmas bulbs in a single breath. Darkness rushed in like a living thing, thick and disorienting, broken only by the relentless drum of snow against the roof and the wind clawing at the walls.
Michelle sucked in a sharp breath.
For a fraction of a second, there was nothing—no sight, no certainty, no sense of direction. Just the sound of her own pulse roaring in her ears.
And then she collided with something solid.
“Sorry—” she gasped, her hands instinctively shooting out.
They landed on broad shoulders.
Jeremiah’s arms came around her just as instinctively, firm hands gripping her waist to steady her before she could stumble. The contact was abrupt, unavoidable—and devastating.
They froze.
For one suspended heartbeat, the world outside ceased to exist. No snow storm. No cabin. No ten years of betrayal and regret. There was only the warmth of his body anchoring her in the dark, the familiar strength of his hold, and the way her breath caught painfully in her throat.
His chest rose and fell beneath her palms.
Jeremiah inhaled sharply, the sound low, restrained, as if he’d forgotten how to breathe for a second too long. His chin brushed the top of her head, and she could feel the warmth of his breath in her hair.
God.
Her body remembered him.
The realization hit her like a betrayal. Every nerve lit up, every instinct screaming recognition, even as her mind scrambled to remind her of everything she had lost—and everything she had chosen to walk away from.
For one reckless, terrifying second, being held by him felt like coming home.
Then—
“Daddy!”
Daisy’s scream tore through the darkness, sharp and panicked, slicing the moment clean in half.
Michelle gasped and stumbled back at the same time Jeremiah released her, the space between them suddenly wide and cold.
“I’ve got her,” Michelle blurted, already turning toward the sound of Daisy’s voice, her heart pounding with a different kind of urgency now.
“I’ll find the light,” Jeremiah said, his voice rough, clipped, grounding himself in action. “Stay with her.”
She nodded, even though he couldn’t see it, and hurried down the short hallway, guided by memory more than sight. Daisy was crouched near the edge of her bed, small shoulders shaking, eyes wide with fear.
“It’s okay,” Michelle said softly, dropping to her knees and opening her arms. “It’s just the lights. I’m here.”
Daisy didn’t hesitate. She launched herself forward, burying her face into Michelle’s coat as sobs broke free. Michelle gathered her up, cradling her close, rocking gently as she murmured reassurances into the child’s hair.
“You’re safe,” she whispered. “Daddy’s fixing it. The lights will be back on soon, I promise.”
The storm roared outside, but slowly, Daisy’s sobs softened into hiccups, her small body relaxing against Michelle’s chest. Michelle kept rocking her, thumb brushing soothing circles along her back, her own heart still racing from everything that had just happened.
Somewhere outside, a door creaked open.
Michelle imagined Jeremiah stepping into the storm, shoulders squared against the wind, doing what he always did—fixing things, handling problems, being steady when the world shook.
Just like he used to.
A metallic clack echoed faintly through the night.
Then another.
The lights flickered once.
Twice.
And with a low hum, the cabin came back to life.
Warm yellow light flooded the hallway, chasing away the shadows, restoring the cabin to something safe and real again.
Michelle blinked, momentarily disoriented by the sudden brightness.
The front door opened, and Jeremiah stepped inside, snowflakes clinging to his hair and jacket, droplets sliding down his temple. He wiped a hand across his forehead and looked up, and stopped.
He stood there, frozen, staring at the sight before him.
Michelle was still on the floor, legs folded beneath her, Daisy curled trustingly in her lap, fast asleep now. One of Michelle’s hands cradled the back of Daisy’s head, the other wrapped protectively around her small frame. The bedside lamp cast a soft glow over them, turning the moment intimate and achingly tender.
Something shifted in Jeremiah’s chest.
Seeing Michelle like this—gentle, patient, instinctively protective—didn’t just remind him of what they’d shared once. It showed him a version of her he had never stopped loving. A version he had never truly let go of.
She looked up then and met his gaze.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
“I think she’ll be okay now,” Michelle said softly, breaking the silence. “She just got scared.”
Jeremiah nodded, his throat tight. “Thank you.”
The word carried more weight than it should have.
He took a step closer, then another, his eyes never leaving Michelle’s face. She shifted slightly, careful not to wake Daisy, her movements slow and deliberate.
“I can take her,” he said quietly.
Michelle hesitated—just a fraction too long.
Carefully, she transferred Daisy into his arms. Jeremiah gathered his daughter against his chest, holding her with practiced ease, but his eyes stayed on Michelle, searching her face for something he couldn’t name.
As he straightened, Daisy stirred, her small fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt.
“Daddy?” she murmured sleepily.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep.”
"No bedtime story tonight?" she asked with a sleepy voice.
"Tomorrow night, I promise."
Her eyes fluttered open again. “Okay… but tomorrow you have to tell me the story about your first true love again.”
Jeremiah froze.
Michelle’s heart stuttered.
Was Daisy referring to her? Did Jeremiah tell her stories about them?
Jeremiah carried Daisy toward her room, then paused at the doorway, glancing back at Michelle.
“There's a spare room at the corner,” he said, the word quiet but unmistakably firm. “And the bathroom is just beside it.”
She nodded slowly.
But her mind kept ringing with what Daisy had said.
And one question: Why did Jeremiah keep the watch?
- Writer
