“Are we going to live there?” she asked, clutching her worn stuffed rabbit, Mr. Whiskers, to her chest.
“Maybe, sweetheart,” I said, buckling her in. “Maybe we are.”
We left at midnight, hoping to beat the worst of the storm. The highway was eerily empty; most people were smart enough to stay indoors.
The first snowflakes started falling around 2:00 a.m.—fat, lazy flakes that danced in the headlights. Within an hour, they had turned thick and fast, transforming the world into an impenetrable wall of white. By 3:00 a.m., I could barely see ten feet past the hood of the car. The wind howled like a living thing, battering our small vehicle, and I gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white.
Sophie slept soundly in the back seat, Mr. Whiskers tucked under her chin, trusting blindly that Mommy would get us there safely.
At mile marker 42, the car suddenly lost traction. We started to slide on a patch of hidden black ice. Panic flared, but muscle memory took over. I turned into the skid just the way my father had taught me years ago, back when he was still alive, back when the word “family” meant protection instead of rejection.
The car fishtailed, then straightened. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“Please,” I whispered to whatever force was listening. “Please just let us make it.”
As if in answer, the exit for Silver Creek appeared through the storm like a gift from heaven. The GPS guided us onto smaller paved roads, then dirt roads, and finally onto what might have been a private drive buried under three feet of snow.
And then, I saw it.
The mansion rose from the darkness like something torn from the pages of another century. Even buried in snow, even half-hidden by the swirling blizzard, it was magnificent. It stood three stories tall, a fortress of weathered stone and timber, boasting gothic turrets and wraparound balconies that spoke of wealth built to last for generations.
I pulled the car as close to the entrance as I dared and killed the engine.
“Sophie,” I said softly, reaching back to shake my daughter awake. “We’re here.”
The heavy iron key Patricia had given me fit perfectly into the lock of the massive oak door. It swung open with a deep groan that echoed through the entrance hall, and we stumbled inside, the snow following us in a rush of frigid air.
The interior of the mansion took my breath away. A grand staircase swept upward into the shadows, its mahogany banister carved with intricate, swirling designs. Crystal chandeliers hung from twenty-foot ceilings like clusters of frozen fireworks. The marble floor stretched out beneath furniture covered in white dust sheets, creating an almost ghostly, yet majestic, atmosphere.
It was freezing inside—perhaps even colder than the outdoors—but the grandeur was undeniable.
“Is this really ours?” Sophie whispered, her voice echoing in the vast, empty space.
“Yeah, baby,” I breathed, shining my phone’s flashlight around. “It really is.”
We explored the ground floor by the weak beam of my light, moving through rooms that felt like scenes from a storybook. We found a library with thousands of leather-bound volumes stretching from floor to ceiling. There was a dining room with a table long enough to seat twenty guests.
We found the kitchen, equipped with vintage appliances from the 1950s—mint green and chrome—and cabinets fully stocked with canned goods, dried pasta, and rice. Evelyn had prepared for someone to come.
On the second floor, I chose the smallest bedroom for us to share. It was a corner room with a sturdy four-poster bed and tall windows that looked out over the snow-covered grounds. I piled every blanket I could scavenge from the other rooms onto the bed, and we crawled underneath, fully clothed, holding each other for warmth.
“Tell me a story,” Sophie murmured, already half-asleep.
“Once upon a time,” I began, “there was a girl who thought she had nothing. But then, she discovered she had everything that mattered. She had courage, and love, and a daughter who made her want to be brave.”
Sophie’s breathing evened out, but sleep wouldn’t come for me. As I lay there, listening to the storm rage against the stone walls, I heard something that made every nerve in my body go cold.
Footsteps…
