Twenty years ago, I found a little boy crying under a tree during a storm. I took him to safety. Yesterday, during a snowstorm, a man knocked on my door, called me by name, handed me an envelope, and then asked me if I was ready to tell the truth.
I lived in the mountains.
Not literally. But almost.
Every weekend. Every public holiday. Every long Friday.
A storm changed everything.
The mountains made me brave.
Then a storm changed everything.
Twenty years ago, I was hiking alone on a ridge.
My name is Claire.
At the time, my knees didn’t hurt.
Thunder rumbled.
The sky was blue.
Then he changed.
The wind blew.
The branches broke.
The thunder rumbled, swift and deep.
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