The realization was terrifying. He threw on his coat and stepped outside to gather more firewood. The cold hit him like a blade. The snow came waist deep now. erasing every trace of the path he’d cleared yesterday. He worked quickly, swinging the ax into frozen logs, the sharp crack echoing through the stillness.
But then, faint and distant, came a different sound. Not wind, not branches, something human, a cry. He froze, head tilted, listening. It came again, softer this time, muffled by the storm. Someone was calling for help. He dropped the axe, grabbed his flashlight, and trudged toward the sound. The wind bit at his face, stealing his breath, but he kept moving.
Near the curve of the road, barely visible through the curtain of snow, he saw a dark shape. A car half buried, its headlights flickering weakly. He ran the last few yards and yanked open the driver’s door. Inside, slumped over the steering wheel, was a young woman. Her face was pale, her lips blue.
Snow clung to her dark brown hair, the strands stiff with ice. Her hands trembled as she turned toward the light. Hey! Ethan shouted over the wind. “Can you hear me?” Her voice was faint. “The car, it stopped. I I can’t see.” Her eyes were open, but they didn’t follow the light. That was when Ethan noticed the milky cloudiness in her pupils.
“I’m blind,” she said, answering his unspoken question. “Please help me.” He didn’t hesitate. Pulling off his coat, he wrapped it around her shoulders, then lifted her easily into his arms. She was light, too light, and shivered violently against him. The moment the cold air hit her lungs, she coughed weakly.
Ethan carried her through the snow, each step sinking deep, his breath ragged. When the cabin came into view, relief nearly buckled his knees. Inside, the fire light wrapped the room in gold and orange. He laid her down near the hearth, close to the warmth, and removed her gloves. Her fingers were white, almost translucent.
He rubbed them gently, careful not to hurt her. The puppy stirred, curious about the new scent. Valor approached first, sniffing the hem of her coat. Then Hope, smaller and gentler, pressed against her arm, tail wagging faintly. The woman smiled weakly. “Dogs?” “Yeah,” Ethan said. “Two of them. Found them last night.
” They’re warm, she murmured, reaching out blindly until her hand brushed Hope’s fur. I can feel their heartbeat. Ethan paused, surprised at the calm in her voice. Most people he’d known faced with pain, reached for noise, complaints, panic, anger. But she seemed to move through her fear with quiet grace.
“What’s your name?” he asked, pouring hot water into a mug. “Emma Brooks,” she said softly. I’m a veterinarian. I came to Juno last week to start a job at the wildlife shelter. Took the wrong turn in the storm. I guess God had other plans. Ethan handed her the mug, steadying her trembling hands. “You’re lucky I heard you.
Another hour and you’d have frozen out there.” “Maybe I was meant to be found,” she said, her tone gentle but sure. Her face, though pale, held an openness that disarmed him. She had delicate features, soft freckles scattered across her nose, and hair that fell in damp waves down her shoulders. Her blindness didn’t dull her presence. It magnified it, making every movement purposeful, every word deliberate.
