“There are.”
And I walked out.
Chapter Two: The House That Was Waiting
Four hours later, my headlights swept across a property that should not have existed.
I had been driving north through winding mountain roads, gripping the steering wheel while exhaustion settled behind my eyes.
The higher I climbed, the colder the air became.
Bare branches scratched against a dark sky.
Mist drifted between the pines.
I pictured the cabin as I remembered it: crooked porch steps, peeling paint, moss on the roof, and a kitchen where mice had once made a nest inside the oven.
I wondered whether the electricity still worked.
I wondered where I would sleep.
I wondered whether Thomas had truly imagined this place becoming my home.
Then I rounded the final bend.
And hit the brakes.
A wide paved driveway curved through stone pillars and toward a magnificent timber house glowing beneath warm exterior lights.
