Read Chapter 16: The New Visitor

The girl stood on the porch with her arms crossed, shivering in a jean jacket that was doing nothing against the February wind. She was maybe nineteen, with Julian's sharp jawline and his same stubborn set to her mouth, but her eyes were all accusation.

"You're hard to find," she said.

Julian hadn't moved since he'd opened the door. He stood frozen in the threshold, snow drifting past him into the warm hallway, his face a mask of something Maren couldn't quite name. Shock, yes. But underneath it, something rawer.

"Lily." Her name came out like a wound.

"Yeah. Surprise." The girl's voice was flat, but her chin trembled. "Can I come in, or are you going to leave me out here to freeze too?"

Maren stepped forward before Julian could speak. "Of course. Come in, please." She reached past him and pulled the door wider, gesturing toward the parlor where the fire was still going strong. "You must be freezing. Here, let me take your jacket."

Lily looked her up and down with the practiced disdain of a teenager who'd decided to hate everyone in the room. "Who are you?"

"Maren Cole. I own this place." She kept her voice warm, unbothered. "Let's get you warm, and we can figure everything else out after."

The girl hesitated, then shrugged off her jacket and handed it over without a word. It was thin, cheap, and Maren's fingers closed on damp denim. She'd walked here somehow. In this weather. Maren didn't let the thought show on her face.

Julian hadn't moved from the doorway. He was staring at his daughter like she was a ghost.

"Dad." Lily's voice cracked on the word. "Are you going to say anything, or just stand there?"

"I—" Julian swallowed, visibly gathering himself. "How did you find me?"

"Your Instagram. You posted a picture of the town from the road yesterday. Took me three buses and a very pissed-off Uber driver to get here, and then the roads were closed and I had to walk the last mile." She said it all in a rush, like she'd been holding it in. "Mom doesn't know I'm here."

Julian's face went pale. "Lily, you're nineteen. She can't—"

"She doesn't know I'm here," Lily repeated, harder this time. "She thinks I'm at my friend's place in Burlington for the weekend."

Maren hung Lily's jacket on the hook by the door and moved toward the kitchen. "I'll make hot chocolate. Something warm in your stomach, and we can talk."

"I don't want hot chocolate," Lily said, but her voice had lost some of its edge. She was looking around the inn now, taking in the worn floorboards, the grandmotherly wallpaper, the fire crackling in the parlor hearth. "This is where you've been hiding?"

"I haven't been hiding." Julian finally moved, stepping into the hall and closing the door behind him. The cold snapped off with a click. "I've been—"

"Writing. Yeah, I saw the book. *The Winter Guest.*" Lily's lip curled. "You used Mom's lake house for the setting, you know. She recognized it. She was pissed."

Julian flinched.

Maren slipped into the kitchen and busied herself with the kettle, finding cocoa mix in the pantry. The voices carried through the open doorway, sharp and jagged as broken glass. She tried not to listen, but the inn was old and the walls were thin, and some conversations couldn't be avoided.

Six years, Julian had told her in the candlelight. Six years since he'd lost custody. And now here was his daughter, on his doorstep, wearing a cheap jacket and a lifetime of hurt.

"...so you found me." Julian's voice, low and careful. "Why, Lily? After all this time?"

"Because I wanted to meet the man my mother's been telling me about my whole life." Lily's voice shook. "The deadbeat. The drunk. The guy who chose his career over his family. I wanted to see if she was right."

The kettle whistled. Maren poured the hot water into the mugs, added the mix, stirred slowly. She stayed in the kitchen a beat longer than she needed to, giving them a moment. Then she carried the mugs into the parlor.

Lily had dropped onto the old velvet settee, arms wrapped around herself. Julian stood by the window, hands in his pockets, radiating discomfort. The fire crackled between them, doing nothing to bridge the distance.

Maren set the mug on the side table next to Lily. "It's got marshmallows. The good kind."

Lily looked at the mug, then up at Maren, and for just a second her face softened into something almost vulnerable. Then the mask slammed back down. "I don't need to be mothered. I had a mother. She did a great job without him."

"I'm not trying to mother you." Maren sat down in the armchair nearby, keeping her voice easy. "I'm just trying to make sure you're warm. There's a difference."

Lily picked up the mug and took a sip. She didn't thank her, but she didn't complain either.

Julian cleared his throat. "Lily. I want to explain—"

"I didn't come here for explanations." She set the mug down, hard. "I came here because I have questions. And I want answers, Dad. Real ones. Not the stories I've been building in my head for six years."

Julian looked at Maren, a silent plea in his eyes. She knew what he was asking. *Help me. I don't know how to do this.*

She gave him a small nod.

"Then ask," Julian said, his voice rough. "Ask anything you want. I'll tell you the truth."

Lily laughed, a bitter sound. "The truth. That's a good one." She pulled her knees up onto the settee, wrapping her arms around them. "Why didn't you fight for me?"

The question hung in the air like smoke. Julian's face crumpled, just for a moment, before he got it under control.

"I did," he said. "I fought. For two years, I fought. But your mother had—she had lawyers, and she had money, and she had the courts convinced that I was—" He stopped. "That I wasn't fit."

"You weren't," Lily said quietly. "Mom says you barely called. You stopped sending birthday cards when I turned twelve."

Julian's hands came out of his pockets; he pressed them to his face for a long moment. When he lowered them, his eyes were wet. "Your mother blocked my calls. Changed her number twice. I sent letters to your school; she had them returned unopened. I didn't stop, Lily. God, I never stopped. I just—I couldn't find a way through."

Lily stared at him. Something flickered in her expression—doubt, maybe, or the first crack in the wall she'd built.

"You're telling me you tried?"

"Every single day." Julian's voice broke. "And then I gave up trying to reach her and I tried to reach you directly. I even thought about showing up at your school. But your mother filed a restraining order, and the judge—" He shook his head. "I lost. I lost everything. And I figured that if I couldn't be in your life without causing you more pain, then maybe the best thing I could do was stay away."

Maren's chest ached. She'd heard the bare bones of this story in the candlelight, but hearing it aloud, with Lily in the room—it was different. It was real in a way confession hadn't been.

Lily was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, so softly Maren almost missed it, "I found your letters."

Julian went still. "What?"

"In Mom's attic. She kept them all. Box of them, tied with string." Lily's voice wobbled. "She said she kept them to show me what kind of man you were. But I read them, Dad. I read every single one." She looked up at him, eyes shining. "They didn't sound like a deadbeat. They sounded like a father who loved his daughter."

Julian crossed the room like a man in a dream. He sank down onto the settee next to her, not touching her, but close enough that his knee almost brushed hers.

"Lily," he said. "I am so sorry. For everything."

She didn't let him touch her. But she didn't pull away either.

The fire crackled. The snow had started falling again outside the window, picking up with the wind, and Maren watched as the road they'd just dug out became a white ribbon disappearing into the storm. More snow. Days more, maybe, of being trapped here together.

Of course, the storm wasn't letting them go.

And for the first time, Maren thought that might not be the worst thing.

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