I walk toward it, slowing down as I approach because my heart is beating so hard. A light is on inside. I imagine Leah in there, sitting at an old wooden desk by the fireplace, typing quickly, her beautiful face glowing golden in the light from the snapping, lively flames. I approach the door and glance around for footsteps around the cabin, but the snow has already started to settle on the ground around the cabin, erasing whatever might have been there.

I knock on the door and listen, but can’t make out anything other than the soft rustle of branches. I knock again. I could just turn back around and hurry to my car and call for help once I have reception. I have the sudden conviction that if I use the key Leah gave me I’ll find her dead inside. Perhaps that’s what she wanted, and why she tried to get me to come here in the first place. I don’t want to find her dead. It’s been less than three months since I walked into our spare bedroom and found Elisabeth on the bed, staring straight at me, unseeing, her sweet face already eerily different.

I knock for the third time, harder, then instinctively try the door handle. The door is unlocked and swings open inward.

28

Leah, one week before

She closes the door to the cabin behind her and draws its familiar scent deep into her lungs. No matter how the future plays out, at least she has this sweet, beloved place. She moves without fear through the silent, dark space and twists the knobs on the oil lamps lined up along the windowsill. She stares out at the impossible beauty of the valley, its trees shimmering in autumnal shades of gold, bronze and ochre in the last of the afternoon light. Already, the long, exhausting Friday-night drive from the capital is forgotten. She steps back from the window and her face is reflected back at her. Her expression is haunted and her left eye is still swollen shut. She runs a fingertip alongside the broken and bruised patch on her face, prodding gently for signs of broken bones.

In the kitchen she unpacks her one small bag of groceries. Minced meat, shredded cheese, cucumber, taco spices, corn tortillas – Leah has come to love the Norwegian obsession with Friday-night tacos. There is also a bottle of wine, some milk and a pizza for tomorrow. She pours herself a small glass of wine, they say just one doesn’t hurt the baby, and sits on the sofa, just listening to the deep silence. She touches her hand to her belly and is filled with the most unbearable dread. She would give anything for this to be different. How is she supposed to forgive him for what happened in Oslo? But she knows she will, if only he’ll come back.