“I know,” I said, my hand resting near the small pistol in my own pocket.

He nodded once, a brief gesture of trust.

Then he opened the door.

The cold, wet night air rushed into the warm cabin, smelling of damp earth and pine needle rot.

For a second, his dark silhouette stood against the grey mist of the forest.

Then he was gone, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.

I slid the heavy iron deadbolt into place.

The silence of the cabin returned, deeper than before.

I walked to the window and watched the red tail lights of his truck disappear down the long, winding dirt driveway.

Then there was only the dark forest and the sound of the rain.

I turned back to the room and sat in the rocking chair near the children’s cot.

I pulled my knees up to my chest and watched them breathe.

An hour passed.

Then two.

The forest outside was completely still, save for the steady patter of the water on the roof.

I must have drifted into a light sleep, my head resting against the high wooden back of the chair.