Chapter 19
The baby kicked and Chloe’s hand moved automatically to the spot, rubbing circles over the bump that seemed to grow larger every day.
“I know,” she murmured. “I miss him too.”
Which was ridiculous. She’d known Victor for what—two months? Less? And most of that time he’d been professionally distant, keeping her at arm’s length with careful politeness.
But those moments when he’d let his guard down…
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the couch cushions. The cabin felt smaller somehow without him. Emptier. She’d only had him here once—that night a week ago when everything had felt possible—but his absence left a Victor-shaped hole in every corner.
The kitchen where he’d stood with dawn light painting him gold. The couch where she’d woken in his arms. The space by the door where he’d said goodbye with his hand already transforming.
She should be angry. She was certainly entitled to fury. He’d given her one perfect night and then ripped it away because he was too afraid to try.
But she understood fear. She’d spent a good part of her life afraid to demand better from those around her. The baby had changed that—what she wouldn’t ask for herself, she would demand for her child—but she still understood that fear.
So no, she wasn’t angry at Victor. Just sad.
And maybe a little stubborn. Because she’d learned something important from Travis’s rejection: she was stronger than she thought.
She was capable of more than anyone—including herself—had believed.
And she wasn’t ready to give up on a stubborn, terrified doctor who transformed into something magnificent and thought it made him a monster.
The baby kicked again, harder this time, and she laughed despite herself.
“Okay, little bean. Point taken. No moping.”
She pushed herself off the couch with more effort than she liked to admit. Almost eight months pregnant and already feeling like a whale. How women did this for nine full months—or longer, in some Other species—remained one of life’s great mysteries.
The kitchen called to her. She’d been meaning to make soup all week, something warm and comforting for the cold weather that had descended over the past few days.
The forecast had mentioned snow but she hadn’t paid much attention.
From what she understood, the North Carolina mountains really didn’t get much snow until after Christmas.
She gathered ingredients with the methodical focus that had gotten her through the past week. Carrots. Celery. Onions. The rhythm of chopping vegetables soothed something in her chest, and made the cabin feel less empty.
Victor would come around eventually. She believed that.
She had to believe it, because the alternative—that he’d spend his whole life convinced he was dangerous—was too sad to contemplate.
And when he did, she’d be ready. Not desperate.
Not waiting by the window for him to rescue her.
Just… ready. Open to the possibility of them if he could get past his fear.
The soup began to simmer, filling the cabin with rich scents of chicken broth and herbs. Her great-grandmother’s recipe, passed down through generations of women who’d made do with what they had.
Women like her ancestor. The midwife who’d left Fairhaven Falls for reasons the archives hadn’t revealed yet.
She’d been searching, though. Slowly piecing together the story between patient files and town records. Her ancestor had delivered half the babies in town for two decades. She’d been highly respected, but then she’d disappeared from the records entirely. Why?
The question nagged at her during quiet moments and made her think there was more to her connection to this town than simple geography.
The baby shifted and her hand went to her belly again. “What do you think, little bean? Am I imagining connections that aren’t there?”
No answer, of course. But the baby’s presence—the steady reminder that she wasn’t alone anymore, would never truly be alone again—gave her courage. She’d figure it all out. The archives. Her ancestor’s story. Her own place in this quirky town. And Victor. Eventually.
Chloe moved to the window to check the timer on her phone and stopped.
“Oh.”
Snow fell in thick sheets outside. Not the gentle dusting she’d vaguely registered earlier but a full-blown storm. The pine trees across the clearing bent under wind that howled loud enough to hear through the glass.
When had that happened?
She peered through the window, trying to see her car.
The driveway was barely visible through the snow.
Everything was white—ground, air, trees all blending into an indistinct wall.
Her stomach tightened. What had the forecast said?
She’d been so lost in thoughts of Victor that she’d barely paid attention to the weather report.
She grabbed her phone and pulled up the weather app.
Blizzard Warning. Heavy snow is expected through tomorrow morning with high winds and 24-36 inches of accumulation. Avoid travel.
Thirty-six inches. Three feet of snow. And she was on a dead-end road outside of the town limits.
“It’s fine,” she told herself, ignoring the sudden spike of anxiety. “I’ll just… stay put.”
She moved through the cabin mentally cataloging supplies.
The soup simmering on the stove would be enough to last for several days.
She had plenty of canned goods in the pantry.
The cabin had a generator, and the rental agent had shown her how to operate when she moved in—not that she’d actually tried to get it started.
There was a load of firewood stacked outside the back door, and she had candles, a flashlight, and extra batteries. She was prepared, completely prepared.
The lights flickered, and her breath caught.
The lights steadied, then flickered again before staying on.
It’s just the wind, she told herself. Nothing to worry about.
But her hand settled protectively over her belly anyway.
The baby kicked, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. They’d weather the storm together.
She returned to the kitchen and stirred the soup. She tasted it and added a little more salt and pepper, trying to take comfort in her normal activities. Outside, the wind shrieked and something heavy crashed in the distance. A branch, probably. Or a whole tree.
It’s fine. The cabin was solid and well-built. According to the rental agreement, it had been here for decades. One blizzard wasn’t going to change that.
She ladled soup into a bowl and carried it to the couch, trying to decide if she should call someone. Victor, a voice whispered, but she immediately rejected it. He wanted distance and that’s what she’d give him. Ginger? Maybe, but she didn’t want the other woman to think she needed help.
The soup was perfect—rich and warming, with just enough herbs to make it interesting. Her great-grandmother would have approved. The baby seemed to approve too, making gentle little movements.
“See, little bean?” she said. “We’re fine. Perfectly safe and—”
The lights went out again, and this time they didn’t come back on.
Complete darkness descended for three heartbeats before her eyes adjusted.
It wasn’t totally dark after all—the fireplace provided some illumination, and grey winter light filtered through the windows despite the storm.
But the sudden absence of electric hum made the cabin feel smaller and infinitely more isolated.
She set down her soup with shaking hands.
The generator. She needed to start the generator.
She’d watched the rental agent demonstrate it. She knew the process and she was pretty sure she could duplicate it. But the generator was located in a small shed behind the cabin, maybe twenty feet from the back door.
Twenty feet through a blizzard. While seven and a half months pregnant.
She curved a protective hand over her stomach. “What do you think? Risk it now or wait to see if the power comes back?”
The baby didn’t answer, but her practical side told her to wait.
The cabin was warm enough for now with the fireplace, and she had plenty of candles.
Wading through knee-deep snow while pregnant seemed like an excellent way to fall and hurt herself.
It would be better to wait until morning when the storm eased. Assuming it stopped by then.
She gathered candles and arranged them around the living room.
The matches were right where she’d left them—in the drawer by the sink, next to the spare batteries and emergency radio.
She lit the candles methodically, arranging them on the mantle and the side tables.
The warm glow helped make the darkness less oppressive.
The fireplace crackled and she added another log. She had plenty of wood. She could keep the fire going all night if needed. See? Everything’s fine. But the howl of the wind seemed louder and more insistent now. And the cabin suddenly felt miles away from everyone instead of just outside town.
She pulled a blanket around her shoulders and settled back on the couch. The soup had helped, warming her from the inside. She had light, heat, and food—everything she needed to wait out the storm. Except company.
She immediately tried to push the thought away.
She didn’t need Victor—anyone—here. She was perfectly capable of handling this on her own.
But God, it would be nice not to be alone.
The baby shifted and she rubbed her belly.
“I know. We have each other. You’re just not much of a conversationalist yet. ”
But the baby had to be enough, because Victor had made his choice.
He’d decided fear mattered more than hope, and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—beg him to reconsider.
She was willing to give him the time and space to work through whatever demons haunted him.
To a certain extent. She wouldn’t wait forever.
And she wouldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt.