Two years earlier, he had buried Claire—his wife, his partner, the woman he had imagined growing old with. The woman he had dreamed of raising children with, filling their home with laughter, toys scattered across the floor, and arguments over who would wake up in the middle of the night.
Claire had been taken from him too quickly, by a rare illness that moved faster than anyone expected. No doctor, no treatment, no amount of hope had been enough to stop it.
Since then, Ethan hadn’t truly lived. He had simply existed.
It was his therapist, Dr. Harris, who insisted he return to Aspen.
“I’m not asking you to forget her,” he told him gently. “I’m asking you not to bury yourself alongside her.”
That was why Ethan had come back—alone, exhausted, holding a key that felt heavier than it should have.
Until he saw the girls.
“What are your names?” he asked, crouching down slowly so he wouldn’t frighten them.
The more animated one pointed to herself. “Lily.”
The quieter one lifted her hand just slightly. “Emma.”
“And your mom?” he asked softly.
Lily tightened her grip on the bread. Emma lowered her eyes, her silence heavier than any answer.