Maria's PoV
The world continued turning.
Days bled into weeks. Weeks into months. The seasons cycled—brutal winters giving way to brief springs, then back to winter again.
Garrett hunted. I cooked. We maintained our cottage, helped our neighbors, lived our lives.
We still loved each other. That hadn't changed.
But something had broken between us that day in the physician's office. Not our bond—that remained strong, unshakeable.
Just... hope. The future we'd imagined. The family we'd never have.
A hollow space opened up between us. Invisible but present. Like a missing tooth your tongue can't stop finding.
***
Garrett tried.
He'd bring me flowers from the forest—small, hardy blooms that somehow survived the harsh climate.
He'd cook on days when exhaustion weighed too heavy on my shoulders.
He'd hold me at night without speaking, just offering presence when words failed.
"I love you," he'd say sometimes. Awkward. Uncertain. Like he worried the words weren't enough.
They were. They always were.
But they couldn't fill the void.
I tried too.
Smiled when he returned from hunts. Laughed at the village gatherings we attended. Maintained the appearance of contentment.
The smiles reached my eyes. The laughter was genuine.
But underneath, always underneath—the knowledge of what I'd lost. What we'd both lost.
We became each other's crutches. Holding each other up. Moving forward because stopping meant drowning.
***
Three years passed this way.
I stood at our cottage window one grey afternoon, watching the village children play in fresh snow.
They shrieked with laughter, throwing snowballs, building misshapen figures that would melt come spring.
Their breath puffed white in the cold air. Their cheeks flushed pink with exertion and joy.
A little girl—maybe five years old, with dark braids and gap-toothed smile—fell backward into a snowdrift.
Her brother pulled her up, and they collapsed together laughing.
My hand moved to my stomach without conscious thought.
Flat. Empty. Would always be empty.
I waited for tears. For the sharp spike of grief that used to come with these moments.
Nothing came.
Just... acceptance. Hollow and complete.
This was my reality. This was my life.
I'd learned to carry it.
Behind me, I heard Garrett enter—boots stamping snow, axe being set by the door. His familiar sounds. His reliable presence.
"Maria?" His voice carried concern. "You alright?"
I turned, smile already in place. "Fine. Just watching the snow."
He moved to stand beside me. His hand found mine. Squeezed once.
We stood together in comfortable silence, watching other people's children play.
***
The blizzard came without warning.
We'd gone to bed early—the wind was already picking up, and veteran Greyhollow residents knew to take shelter before the worst hit.
I lay against Garrett's chest, listening to his heartbeat, feeling his warmth.
The wind howled outside like a living thing, rattling shutters, testing the cottage's walls.
Then—through the storm's roar—a sound.
Knocking.
I jerked awake.
Garrett was already moving, sliding out of bed with the fluid grace of someone always half-alert for danger.
He grabbed his axe. Moved toward the door with steps that made no sound despite his size.
I followed, pulling a shawl around my nightdress. The cold bit even inside.
"Who's there?" I called. My voice barely carried over the wind.
A response came—muffled, feminine, familiar.
My heart stopped.
I knew that voice.
I rushed past Garrett, fumbling with the door latch. He tried to stop me—safety protocols, never open without knowing—but I didn't care.
The door swung inward. Snow and wind burst through like a physical blow.
And there, on our doorstep, was Calla.
She wore a thick fur coat—expensive, well-made, now crusted with ice and snow.
Her hair hung loose and tangled, plastered to her face by frozen moisture.
Her eyes—
Her eyes were wild.
Desperate.
Haunted.
"Calla!" I grabbed her arm, pulling her inside. "Gods, get in here!"
She stumbled across the threshold. I slammed the door against the storm, cutting off the wind's scream.
Garrett was already moving—securing the door, checking the windows, making sure the blizzard hadn't damaged anything.
Then he turned his attention to our unexpected guest.
Calla stood in the center of our cottage, swaying slightly. Snow melted off her coat in puddles. She was shaking—cold, shock, or fear, I couldn't tell.
"Sit," I commanded, guiding her to a chair by the fire. "Garrett, warm some soup. Quickly."
He obeyed without question, moving to the pot we kept perpetually simmering.
I knelt before Calla, taking her frozen hands in mine. "What happened? How did you get here? In this storm—you could have died!"
She didn't answer. Just stared at the fire with glassy eyes.
"Calla, please. Say something. You're scaring me."
Garrett returned with a bowl of hot soup. Steam rose in lazy curls, carrying the scent of rabbit and herbs.
"Drink," I said, pressing it into her hands. "You need to warm up."
She took the bowl mechanically. Lifted it to her lips. Sipped without seeming to taste.
Minutes passed. The shaking subsided. Color returned to her face—slowly.
But she still didn't speak.
I exchanged a glance with Garrett. His expression was grim. Concerned.
And underneath—that same gnawing wariness I'd seen when she'd visited before.
"Calla." I took her hands again. Squeezed. "What happened to you? Please. Say something."
For a long moment, nothing.
Then, slowly—like someone moving through deep water—Calla's hands moved to her fur coat.
She pulled it open.
Cradled against her chest, wrapped in cloth that might once have been expensive but was now stained and worn—
A baby.
Small and delicate.
Face scrunched in sleep.
Maybe a month or two. Maybe less.
The world stopped.
My breath caught. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard it hurt.
A baby.
Calla was holding a baby.
"I—" My voice came out strangled. "Whose—is that—"
Calla finally looked at me. Really looked. And in her eyes—
Desperation. Grief. Something that looked like guilt.
"Please," she whispered. The first word she'd spoken since entering. "Please, Maria."
Her hands trembled as she held the child. "I can't keep her. I can't—she'll die if she stays with me—"
Her voice broke.
"Please take her. Please. You're the only one I trust. The only one who can—"
She thrust the baby toward me. "Please."
I stared.
At the baby. At Calla. At the impossible situation materializing in my cottage during a blizzard that should have killed anyone traveling through it.
She was the monsters beautiful thing in the world...