As I pushed through the final line of bushes, I stopped dead in my tracks. Sitting in a small clearing was a cabin. I knew these woods. I had played in them my whole life before my mother died. This clearing was supposed to be completely empty.

The nearest neighbor was miles away in the opposite direction. Yet, here was a sturdy, well-built log cabin, with smoke happily puffing out of a stone chimney and warm lantern light spilling from a small glass window. I didn’t care how it got there or who lived inside.

Survival instincts took over. I dragged myself onto the small wooden porch and pounded my frozen fist against the heavy door. “Please!” I screamed, my voice hoarse and cracked. “Please, my sister is freezing! Help us!” The door swung open almost immediately. Standing there was an older woman with striking, silver hair pulled into a tight braid.

She wore a thick wool shawl over a simple cotton dress. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of us—two half-frozen, ragged children standing on her doorstep in the dead of night. She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t hesitate. She immediately reached out, pulled us into the overwhelming warmth of the cabin, and slammed the door shut against the harsh winter wind.

The inside of the cabin was a sanctuary. A massive fire roared in the stone hearth, radiating a heat that made my frozen skin tingle painfully. The woman quickly took Violeta from my arms, laying her gently on a thick, fur-lined rug near the fire.

She stripped away the damp blanket and began vigorously rubbing Violeta’s arms and legs to get the blood flowing. “Sit by the fire, child,” the woman ordered me, her voice firm but incredibly gentle. “Get those wet boots off right now.” I did as I was told, my shaking hands struggling with the laces.

The woman moved quickly, fetching a heavy quilt and wrapping it securely around my shoulders.

She then went to a small cast-iron stove in the corner and poured a mug of something hot and sweet-smelling. “Drink,” she said, pressing the warm tin mug into my hands.

It was a spiced apple cider, so hot it burned my tongue, but it was exactly what I needed. I felt the warmth travel down my throat and into my chest. For the next few hours, we sat in silence as the sky outside finally began to turn a pale, bruised purple.

Violeta’s color slowly returned, and she eventually drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep on the rug. The woman sat in a rocking chair across from us, watching us with unreadable eyes. “My name is Martha,” she finally said, breaking the silence. “What on earth were two children doing out in the deep woods in this weather?” I told her everything.

I told her about my mother, about Bernarda, about the locked door, and my father’s silence. Martha listened patiently, her jaw tightening with every word.