The Warmth of the Cabin
The old man studied the girl for a long moment.
She couldn’t have been more than eight.
Her clothes were soaked, her lips blue from the cold, and her hands shook so badly he could barely hold them still.
“You’re not going anywhere tonight,” he said quietly.
The girl looked down.
“People usually tell me to leave.”
Something painful flickered across the man’s face.
“Well, they’re not here.”
He set the shotgun against the wall and pulled a thick wool blanket from a nearby chair. Carefully, he wrapped it around her shoulders.
The child flinched at first.
Then slowly relaxed.
The fire crackled softly between them.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Emily.”
“And where’s your family, Emily?”
The little girl stared into the flames.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then her voice broke.
“I don’t know.”
The answer hit harder than any storm outside.
The old man glanced toward the snow-covered window.
Nobody traveled through weather like this by accident.
Nobody ended up alone in these woods without a reason.
A heavy silence settled over the cabin.
Then Emily reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small silver locket.
“I was told to give this to a man in the forest,” she whispered.
The old man frowned.
“Who?”
Emily looked up at him for the first time.
Then she slowly opened the locket.
Inside was a faded photograph.
The old man’s face drained of color.
Because the man in the picture—
was him.
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