I tore off my gloves and checked her face, her hands, her neck.
Sophie let out a weak cry.
Barely a sound.
“Emily, look at me,” I said. “It’s me.”
Her eyes opened slightly.
“Jacob…”
I pulled off my military jacket and wrapped it around the baby.
“What happened?”
Her lips trembled.
“Your parents…”
She swallowed.
“They said we weren’t family anymore. They changed the locks.”
Something inside me froze harder than the snow around us.
“The house belongs to your father now,” she whispered.
At that moment, the front door opened.
Standing beneath the chandelier was my mother, Rebecca Hayes, wearing a silk robe.
Behind her stood my father, Richard Hayes, holding a whiskey glass.
He looked annoyed.
Like someone had interrupted dinner.
