The last time she’d looked little to me was almost a year after the fire. I’d woken in the middle of the night to a silent house. After months of Emery waking with nightmares, I’d gotten into the habit of checking on her. But that night, when I pushed open the door to her room, she wasn’t there. I pulled the blankets from her bed and searched the house, calling her name out in the woods. It wasn’t until I saw the faint light across the road that I realized. I let myself into the Salts’ empty cottage. It was freezing cold, but the little light over the sink had been switched on. I followed the
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