The letter was in my mother’s handwriting. “Hannah, my darling, I wrote this the winter I learned I was sick,” it began. “Your father does not know this cabin is mine. I bought it with my own money before I met him, because I never fully trusted anyone who loved too easily.” My eyes blurred. She went on to say the strongbox held something that would protect me from Renee, and that the key hung around the neck of the one who would find me.

I looked down at Biscuit. Tied beneath his thick fur was a thin cord, and on it hung a small brass key I had mistaken for part of his collar. Then I heard an engine groaning up the snowy road. Biscuit growled low, staring at the window. Through the trees came the glow of headlights, and a car door slammed. Renee’s voice carried through the cold: “Hannah? We forgot something.”