PART I — THE EARRING IN THE SNOW

She opened the door for air, nothing more — but the moment she stepped outside, she froze.

Fresh snow blanketed everything except for a single trail of footprints leading away from her house, not toward it. As if someone had been standing at her door and slipped back into the trees the moment she approached.

At the end of the trail: a green Stanza box, half-buried in powder.

Her throat tightened.


Inside was her Interwoven Hoop — the exact one she lost last winter. The loss she blamed on the storm, on the rushing, on the chaos of that night she refused to think about.

But there it was.

Clean.

Warm.

Held recently.

Under it, a small note:

You forgot this.

 


 

She looked toward the woods, snow falling softly in sheets, and felt something unfamiliar:

This wasn’t random.

This was someone who knew her.

Someone who remembered that night just as clearly as she did.

And they wanted her attention.

Sincerely yours,