26

In the great green room there was my daughter, lying on a massive bed, with Margaret knitting in a rocking chair a few feet away.

“Can it be over now?” I asked. The fire was lit in the hearth, but it was cold, getting colder. I stood in the door, on the precipice, unable to come in. Each time I tried to take a step across the threshold I was halted by a wave of cold, a soul-deep freeze, an ice wall.

“Close your eyes,” said Margaret.

But I couldn’t.