My breath came out in thick, white plumes that vanished into the falling snow.

I pressed six-month-old Owen closer to my chest, trying to shield him with my thin woolen coat.

The porch light of our suburban home was off, and the deadbolt on the front door remained firmly locked.

Inside, the warm glow of the living room fire flickered against the frosted glass of the windows.

I could hear my father-in-law, Walter, laughing inside the house.

My mother-in-law, Patricia, was playing classical music on the stereo.

They had taken my keys an hour ago and pushed me out into the blizzard.

“Please, Walter!” I had screamed, banging my numb fists against the glass. “Owen is freezing!”

They had simply drawn the heavy velvet curtains shut.

Now, my toes were completely cold, and Owen’s soft whimpers were growing weaker against my neck.

The wind howled, kicking up drifts of dry snow around my boots.

Then, bright headlights cut through the swirling white dark of the driveway.

A black SUV slid to a halt near the mailbox.

The driver’s side door flew open, and a man in a military dress uniform stepped out into the storm.

It was Jake.

My chest tightened, a sob catching in my throat as he ran toward the porch.

“Hannah?” he called out, his voice cracked with disbelief.

He took the steps three at a time, his heavy boots pounding on the icy wooden stairs.

“What is happening? Why are you out here?”

He pulled his thick military overcoat off and wrapped it around me and Owen.

His hands were warm, smelling of pine and old leather.

“They locked us out,” I whispered, my teeth chattering violently. “Walter and Patricia. They took my keys.”

Jake’s face hardened into stone.

He turned to the front door and slammed his fist against the wood.

“Open the door!” he roared.

The lock clicked inside, and the heavy oak door swung open a few inches.

My brother-in-law, Logan, stood there holding a glass of amber liquid, his eyes bloodshot.

“Oh, look who’s back from the dead,” Logan sneered, leaning against the frame.