Mia and Ben ignored her, still mourning their mother. Caleb was often away hunting or chopping wood, leaving her alone to fend for herself.
She felt isolated, and her weight made every task more difficult.
At night, she cried silently, wondering if her life was now a loveless marriage in a home that felt like a prison.
Ellie tried to connect with the children. She baked cookies, offering them to them with trembling hands.
Mia sneered, “You’re not our mom.”
And Ben hid behind her.
Ellie’s heart sank, but she didn’t give up. She remembered her own lonely childhood and promised herself to be patient.
Little by little, she began leaving them small gifts—carved sticks, wildflowers—hoping to gain their trust.
Caleb was a mystery.
He spoke little, his face marked by grief.
Ellie noticed, however, the tender care he lavished on his children despite his rough exterior.
One afternoon, he found her struggling to carry firewood.
Without a word, he took the load from her arms. “You don’t have to do it all by yourself,” he rasped.
It was the first time he had spoken kindly to her, and Ellie felt a spark of hope.
Life in the mountains was exhausting.
Ellie’s body ached from the chores: carrying water, scrubbing floors, cooking over an open fire.
But she refused to complain.
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