My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I ran up the stairs two at a time, my lungs burning in the cold air.

The hallway upstairs was dark, lit only by the pale blue emergency lights along the baseboards.

I reached the top landing and turned toward the west wing.

The nursery door was painted a soft pastel pink.

I threw the door open.

Inside, the four small beds were arranged in a semi-circle.

The room was cold, our breath forming faint white plumes in the dim light.

Emma was already sitting up, her thumb in her mouth, her eyes wide with fear.

“Is it the storm?” she asked, her voice tiny and trembling.

“Sweetie, get up,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and steady. “We need to go play a game in Daddy’s room.”

Lily and Sophie were waking up now, stirred by my voice.

“Where is Daddy?” Lily asked, rubbing her eyes.

“He’s waiting for us,” I said, lifting Grace out of her bed.

She was the smallest, her body warm and limp with sleep.