Chapter 1

The rain didn’t just fall; it hammered against the world, a relentless, drowning roar that sealed us off from everything except the wood, the stone, and the heat radiating from his body. I remember the drive up the winding mountain road, the wipers struggling to keep pace with the deluge, the way the headlights carved out a fragile tunnel through the pitch-black pines. But now, the car was gone, left parked under the low-hanging eaves of the A-frame cabin, and I was standing in the heavy, velvet silence of the entryway, shaking off the damp chill that clung to my skin like a second layer. The air inside smelled of cedar, old paper, and something deeper, something muskier that made my stomach flip—a scent I knew better than my own. It was the smell of him. Sandalwood and pipe tobacco, mixed with the faint, salty tang of his skin after a day in the studio. It was a nostalgic perfume, one that triggered a memory so sharp it nearly doubled me over: being six years old, sitting on a stool in his study while he read the financial times, his large hand resting on the crown of my head, grounding