Snow still fell thick outside, binding them to the cottage’s rhythm. Mornings meant tea and shared chores—Lauren sweeping hearth ash, Mabel folding linens with careful hands. Evenings brought card games by lamplight, laughter easing the hours. Simple days wove a fragile comfort between them.
Lauren felt steadied by the company, the soft clink of spoons against mugs chasing away solitude’s edge. Another heartbeat in the house made the storm feel less like a cage. Yet beneath it ran a quiet thread of offness, like a melody slightly out of tune.