Deniece sat at her desk, staring into nothing, mulling over how unfairly life seemed to turn out. At forty-two, she was single, technically childless—at least in the sense that no children lived at home—and marooned in a Farmhouse far too large for one person.

She did have a son and a daughter. David, her son, was in the Army and currently stationed overseas. Her daughter, Wendy, was off on her honeymoon, somewhere warm and sun-drenched.

Meanwhile, Deniece was stuck at home, surrounded by silence and winter. Outside, the temperature hovered at a crisp twenty degrees, light snow drifting down as if to mock her.

She sat there thinking about the weather report and their warnings that a blizzard was on its way. Her gaze drifted into the living room, where she noticed the firewood stacked by the fireplace was running low—something that would need to be taken care of before the storm arrived.

She knew she had to go outside and bring in more wood. With a sigh, she pushed herself up and slipped on the heavy jacket her husband used to wear. As she opened the door, a sharp blast of cold air rushed in, stinging her face and stealing her breath.

The woodshed was only ten feet away, but it felt like a mile. After five freezing trips back and forth, she finally shut the door behind her, sealing out the cold.

She stacked the wood neatly beside the fireplace, then shrugged out of the jacket and dropped onto the couch, exhausted and still chilled to the bone. Sitting there, she drifted back to memories of when she, her husband, and the kids would huddle around this very fireplace, watching the snow fall outside while the children whispered hopeful prayers for a school cancellation.

The radio murmured in the background, the announcers warning of the approaching blizzard. Winds were expected to reach sixty to seventy miles per hour, with snow drifting as high as six or seven feet in some areas.

Deniece was grateful that, last summer, her son had helped her get rid of the animals. This kind of weather would have killed them—and might have killed her too—if she’d had to fight the storm to herd them into the barn.

She also remembered that her son had filled the generator’s fuel tank. It was a small unit, only powerful enough to supply electricity to the storeroom where the food and drinks were kept.

She wondered how Sally and Sam were doing—her neighbors about five miles down the same road—and a small knot of worry settled in her chest. They’d been neighbors and close friends for the past ten years, close enough that the thought of the storm reaching them first made her uneasy.

Deniece glanced out the window. Darkness was closing in faster than it should have, or maybe the storm was just growing fiercer. Suddenly, a sharp flash of light illuminated the wall, followed by the low, distant rumble of a car engine—cutting through the wind like a warning.

Deniece couldn’t imagine who would be out driving in weather like this. She whispered a quiet wish for their safety, hoping they made it through the storm.

About half an hour later, Deniece decided to make herself some coffee. She paused at the window, peering out—but the world beyond was swallowed by snow; she couldn’t see more than six inches ahead. Shaking her head, she turned toward the kitchen and poured herself a steaming cup. Standing there, the warmth barely reaching her fingers, a sharp, deliberate knock echoed through the house.