It had been six months since his last visit to his parents’ cottage—a sojourn that had ended with his mother in tears and his father screaming at him as he left the cabin. It was January, and he had some important and exciting news for his parents; he had butterflies in his stomach throughout the trip north to Hammermill.
He had taken a half-day at work and arrived there just before seven—the sun already engaged in its wintry slumber. He paused for a moment before ringing the doorbell, standing on the porch, momentarily awestruck by the splendor of his surroundings; the forest that sat at the edge of his parents’ property was cloaked in darkness except for the very top of the trees, which were glistening in silver starlight.
Snow fell softly to the ground, rustlin...
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