Chapter 2

The first time Rhys called after giving my seat to a dog, it was not to apologize. It was because my family could not enter the cabin. For one foolish second, I thought he was calling to apologize. "Maren, the property manager won't give us the access code." Wind rushed over his voice. "The reservation is under your name." No hello. No question about whether I had reached the station. Wind rushed through the phone. Willa was coughing, Milo was barking, and Lenora kept saying it was too cold outside. "Did you tell her I gave you permission?" "She needs to hear it from you." Rhys lowered his voice. "Can you handle this quickly? Willa is freezing." Dad took the phone. "Maren, don’t leave the family standing in the snow over one seat." "I didn’t lock you out." "We know you’re upset." Behind him, Lenora said Willa’s hands were turning blue. I opened the booking app. I sent my ID, completed a video check, and accepted responsibility for every guest. Five minutes later, the lock clicked. Warm voices filled the background. "Thank you," Rhys said. "I knew you would handle it." The call ended before I could answer. They could count on me to fix the problem. They just could not count me as part of the family. An hour later, photographs appeared in the family chat. Milo lay beside the fireplace in a red Christmas sweater. Willa was already upstairs in the master suite. I recognized the carved headboard behind her. I had chosen that room for Rhys and me because it overlooked the frozen lake. My phone rang again. "Willa needs the master bedroom," Rhys said. "Milo keeps her calm, and that room has enough space for the dog bed." My fingers tightened around the ribbon. "That is our room." "There are two beds in the basement. We can sleep there when you arrive." The basement had no bathroom and one narrow window. It was never meant for us. "First you gave her my seat. Now you've given her our room." Rhys exhaled. "Why do you always describe it as Willa taking something from you?" Because whenever Willa needed comfort, they offered her something that belonged to me. Before I could answer, Willa spoke near the phone. "I can move. I don't want Maren to hate me." Her voice trembled on my name. Lenora immediately told her not to be ridiculous. Dad reminded everyone that I had always been practical. Willa never had to ask twice. "Let her keep it," I said. "But stop pretending any of this is for my comfort." Rhys went quiet. Behind him, Milo's collar jingled. "We're trying to make the best of a difficult situation," he said. "No. You decided I was the easiest person to inconvenience." Willa drew in a shaky breath. "I knew she would be upset because of me." Lenora began comforting her. Dad told me not to turn one small change into a family argument. One small change. They had taken my seat and my room. Somehow, my reaction was the only part they considered unreasonable. "I have to go." "Maren, don't hang up while we're talking." But I already had. My clinic called less than a minute later. The nurse confirmed that my bloodwork looked normal for seven weeks and reminded me to rest. I pressed my palm over my stomach. There was still a tiny life inside me. One that no one in that snow-covered house knew existed. When the call ended, I looked at the ultrasound inside the silver box. I remembered how Rhys used to warm my cold hands between his. I called him again. He answered on the fourth ring. "Did you call the property manager?" "Why would I call her again?" "The fireplace in Willa's room isn't working. She thinks it's too cold for Milo." So that was what he had been waiting for. Not an explanation. Not an apology. Another problem for me to solve. "You have her number," I said. "Call her yourself." Rhys paused. "Are you refusing because you're angry about the room?" "I'm refusing because I've already done enough." Willa murmured behind him. Rhys's voice softened when he answered her. That softness used to belong to me. "We'll talk when you get here," he said. I ended the call. Half an hour later, his message appeared. If you're coming here just to punish everyone and make Willa feel guilty, stay in New York. He had given her my seat and our room, yet in his version of the story, I was ruining Christmas. I closed the silver box and retied the ribbon. This time, my hands did not shake. "All right," I whispered to the child he knew nothing about. "Then we won't go."