Chapter 64

Lauren

If you had told me, just a few years ago, that I’d be spending a crisp afternoon at the foot of a freezing ski hill, watching my kids tumble over and over in the snow—one my long lost child— laughing through the cold with their father, I would have called you crazy.

But here we were.

Abigail, full of energy and excitement, barely able to stand without toppling over, was grinning up at her father as he scooped her into his arms again. The cold air had no hold on her; her cheeks were bright pink, her eyes sparkling with joy.

Alexander, usually the one with the reserved, stoic demeanor, was full of laughter, tossing Abigail in the air only to catch her with that same effortless ease that made everything seem possible.

Every time she asked, “Again, Daddy!” he obliged, and it was like the entire world had paused to watch them.

Owen and I had been sitting back for a while, leaning against the lodge walls, our feet warming by the lodge fire. I watched them, my heart full of a quiet, strange contentment. There was something beautiful about this—about seeing Abigail so at ease, so light. Her connection with Alexander was something deeper.

Maybe something she needed, more than I realized.

“They have so much energy,” Owen muttered, his voice warm with the kind of quiet fondness he didn’t often show.

I smiled, tilting my head to catch a better glimpse of them as Abigail begged her father to throw her in the air one more time, running in those clunky boots.

“Yeah,” I agreed softly. “But this is just as nice.”

Owen’s gaze shifted toward me, his brow furrowing ever so slightly as if trying to place the words I had just said.

I didn’t need to explain. I could see it in his eyes.

His cup of hot cocoa trembled in his hands for a second before he looked at me fully, a smile curling at the edges of his lips. “Yeah… I like the quiet sometimes,” he said.

I bumped his shoulder lightly, the familiar comfort of the gesture calming me. His little yet strong presence always did that, like a quiet understanding between us.

“Me too,” I whispered, staring into the flames of the fire as they flickered and danced in the hearth. “Always have, especially with a good book.”

He chuckled softly, and I could tell he wasn’t thinking of books in that moment.

The fire crackled between us, and for a brief moment, we didn’t need anything more than this. A smile shared, a quiet conversation, the warmth of the fire. Abigail’s laughter echoed in the background, the sound light and carefree.

“Maybe one day,” Owen said, his voice low, “we can have more of this... you know? More quiet. Just the four of us.”

I met his gaze, finding a sincerity there that caught me off guard.

I nodded slowly. “I’d like that. I really would.”

He was talking about us—what we could be, what we could find if we allowed ourselves the time to simply be. A Family.

“I think we’re on our way to something like that,” I said quietly, feeling the weight of my words sink in, even as I let the quiet linger between us.

Owen looked at me, his eyes soft, and for once, there were no walls between us.

“I think so too,” he murmured, his smile more genuine now. “Mom.”

The day seemed to grow only more and more chilled as the hours wore on.

Even more surprisingly, I got better. Not great, but I could go a bit down the hill in a slow S before eating more ice.

“Daddy!” Abigail called over the wind as it felt like it blew right through us. “Let’s race! Come on! I wanna see how fast we can go!”

Alexander glanced at the sky, noting my same observation I’m sure of the clouds. “Sure,” he finally said before looking back at Owen and I. “You two take your time. We’ll meet you at the bottom and head in for the night. Watch out for the ridge.”

I nodded. “Sounds good! See you at the bottom.”

“Stay close, Lauren,” Alexander repeated to Owen.

Owen gave a big thumbs up before Abigail and him took off like lighting down the hill, her laughing slowly fading.

We weren’t even halfway down the massive mountain when it began.

A flurry at first. The kind of snow that looked like the sky was just coughing a little. But then the wind started picking up more, and that was when the trouble began. The fine mist of white turned to a furious blanket that smothered the whole mountain, and suddenly, I couldn’t see anything.

“Owen! Do you see anything?” I called, my voice caught in the shriek of the wind.

“Nothing.” He shouted back, but his voice was already distant.

My chest tightened. The storm had hit too soon. It was supposed to stay clear for at least another hour.

“Owen, stay close!”

We kept moving forward, the thick snow turning more like through molasses—slower, more deliberate, like I had to fight every inch of ground. The snow kept piling up, the surface shifting beneath my feet.

The mountain was eerily silent, save for the howl of the wind. It felt like the whole world was covered in this white, suffocating blanket. I tried to concentrate on each footfall. Focus, focus, focus.

I couldn’t see more than a foot in front of me, the white world merging into one endless, featureless plane. Panic started creeping up from my stomach, curling into my chest.

“Mom! Look out!” Owen’s voice cracked through the thick air, and before I could even process what was happening, I was falling—sliding in the snow, before the ground beneath me was gone.

I yelped, scrambling to hold anything as my body swung over the side, my ski’s knocking off my boots, whipping in the abyss below. I caught myself on a jagged rock jutting from the side of the mountain.

“Owen!” I shouted, scrambling to find my footing, my legs trembling below, my heart thudding in my chest. Where was he!?

“Ma, hold on!” he called again, his voice ragged with the effort to stay grounded as he shuffled down towards on on the uneven slope, having taken his ski’s off.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t swing my legs up. The wind was battering at my side, pushing me off the icey edge.

“Mom! Take my hand!” he shouted again, and that was when I heard the real panic in his voice. He was too far up the unstable, steep slope. He would surely fall, slip if he came any closer.

I felt a surge through me. I could transform, take on my wolf form and easily get us out of this. Even if it had been years, I—

Nothing happened. My body refused. Huh… could I not… change? How long had it been…

I turned toward him, my eyes wild, his face pale beneath the white swirl of snow. He was crouched low, one hand bracing himself against the ground, the other reaching out to me.

“Owen, no!” I screamed, but the words were swallowed by the wind, powerless. “Get back!”

I moved instinctively, trying to reach him, even if just to push him back. But it was too late. He slipped, sliding right past me over the abyss of the cliff. I felt the panic claw up my throat like something alive.

I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe.

I grabbed for anything I could hold, anything that would keep him from falling. My fingers barely brushed against the thick fabric of his jacket. My breath was ragged, my heart hammering in my chest as I pulled with everything I had.

“Owen!” I gasped, holding him with every ounce of strength I could muster. His weight was too much, too much for me alone with on arm, but I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t.

“I’ve got you,” I panted, my voice hoarse, trembling. “Just hold on.”

The gaping cliff whistled under us. The drop beyond was too deep to fathom.

I fought against the wind, against the snow, against every instinct telling me to let go. I couldn’t stop. Not now. Not even when the rock cut through my glove, my blood slick to the stone.

“Owen!” I cried again, and this time, he moved below, his hand grabbing onto my wrist.

The warmth of his skin was the only thing grounding me, the only thing anchoring me to the world.

I looked down. His eyes met mine—wide, terrified, and just as desperate as I felt. He was alive. He was still here.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered through clenched teeth.

“Don’t let go,” His voice was a faint whisper, barely audible above the roar of the storm, but it cut through everything.

“I won’t,” I promised.

With one final pull, I tried to yank him above me, but thats when a snap left us floating for a split second. The rock that had held our hold, popped out of the face.

My eyes widened before the darkness swallowed our fall.