Updated Mar 21, 2026 • ~7 min read
Iris wakes to silence.
Not the rainy silence from yesterday. Different silence.
Heavy. Muffled.
She climbs down from the loft. Looks out the window.
And freezes.
Snow. Everywhere.
At least three feet. Maybe more.
Covering everything. The porch. Her car. The entire world.
“No. No no no.”
It’s October. Not even late October. Mid-October.
This isn’t supposed to happen.
She grabs her phone. Still only one bar of service.
Texts Skye: HELP. Snowed in. Like actually buried.
No response. Message not delivered.
Signal’s gone again.
Panic rises.
She’s supposed to meet the realtor today. Sign listing papers. Start the selling process.
Can’t do that buried under three feet of snow.
The landline works.
Small miracle.
She finds Linda’s number taped to the fridge.
“Linda? It’s Iris Chen. I’m snowed in at the cabin.”
“Oh dear. Yes, we got an early blizzard. Unseasonable. Roads are completely impassable.”
“When will they clear?”
“Hard to say. Could be days. Could be weeks.”
“Weeks? I can’t stay here for weeks!”
“I’m sorry, dear. October blizzards are unpredictable. Sometimes they melt fast. Sometimes they settle in for the winter.”
Iris feels like crying.
“What about the realtor meeting?”
“I’ll reschedule. Don’t worry about that now. Just focus on staying safe and warm. Do you have food? Firewood?”
“I think so. Someone stocked the cabin.”
“That would be Beck. He’s been maintaining the property. Good man. Quiet, but reliable.”
“Is there any way to contact him? I don’t have his number.”
“Beck doesn’t have a phone. But if you need help, he’ll know. He always knows.”
That’s both comforting and creepy.
“How will he know?”
“He just does. Don’t worry, dear. You’re in good hands.”
Linda hangs up.
And Iris is alone again.
Trapped.
Actually, genuinely trapped.
She takes inventory.
Food: Canned goods. Pasta. Rice. Dried beans. Enough for maybe a week if she rations.
Firewood: The stack Beck brought. Maybe three days’ worth?
Water: The pipes haven’t frozen yet. But will they?
Power: Generator seems fine. For now.
She should be okay for a few days.
After that?
She tries not to think about it.
The cabin is cold.
She feeds the woodstove. Tries to conserve fuel.
But the temperature keeps dropping.
By noon, she can see her breath inside.
The generator sputters.
Then stops.
“No. Please no.”
She follows Beck’s instructions. Flips switches. Checks connections.
Nothing works.
The generator is dead.
Which means no lights. No power. No way to charge her phone.
And the cabin is getting colder by the minute.
Iris layers on every piece of clothing she brought.
Two pairs of socks. Leggings under jeans. Three shirts. Her warmest jacket.
Still shivering.
The woodstove helps. But it’s not enough for the whole cabin.
She drags her sleeping bag down from the loft.
Sets up camp in front of the fire.
This is survival mode now.
Hours pass.
The cold is relentless.
Iris burns through firewood faster than she should.
But she can’t help it.
She’s so cold.
By evening, she’s down to half the wood Beck brought.
And the snow shows no sign of stopping.
She’s going to freeze to death in a Montana cabin.
Alone.
Because she was too stubborn to sell remotely.
This is definitely how she dies.
Movement outside.
Iris peers through the window.
Beck. Trudging through snow. Carrying something.
He pounds on the door.
She opens it. Immediately, snow and cold blast in.
“Generator’s out,” he says. Not a question.
“How did you—”
“Smoke from your chimney is wrong. Burning too much wood too fast. Figured you lost power.”
He pushes past her. Goes straight to the generator.
Fiddles with something.
The generator roars to life.
Lights flicker on.
Iris could cry with relief.
“Fuel line was frozen. Fixed it. Should hold now.”
“Thank you. I don’t know what I would have—”
“You would have frozen.”
He’s assessing her setup. The sleeping bag by the fire. Her excessive layers.
“You’re burning wood wrong. Damper’s too open. Wasting heat.”
He adjusts the stove. Immediately, the heat intensifies.
“And you need to insulate. Hang blankets over the windows. Keep the warmth in.”
He’s already doing it. Finding spare quilts. Tacking them over glass.
The cabin instantly feels warmer.
“I brought more firewood. And food. Real food, not canned soup.”
He hauls in supplies. Fresh bread. Cheese. Eggs. Vegetables.
“Where did you even get this? Nothing’s open.”
“I’m prepared. You’re not. That’s the problem with city people. No survival skills.”
It’s definitely judgment this time.
“I wasn’t planning to survive a blizzard. I was planning a weekend trip.”
“In Montana. In October. That was stupid.”
Iris’s temper flares.
“You know what? I get it. I’m a dumb city girl who doesn’t belong here. You’ve made that very clear. But I’m trying my best—”
“Your best isn’t good enough.”
The words sting.
“Then leave. I didn’t ask for your help.”
“No. You just would have died without it.”
“I’m fine!”
“You’re burning through firewood like it’s infinite. Your generator failed. You’re one power outage from hypothermia. That’s not fine.”
“Then what do you want me to do?”
Beck stares at her.
Something complicated in his expression.
“Learn. Pay attention. Stop assuming you can handle things you’ve never experienced.”
“I’m trying!”
“Try harder.”
He leaves.
Just walks out into the snow.
And Iris is left alone again.
Warm, at least. Fed.
But furious.
She eats the food Beck brought.
Fresh bread with butter. It’s delicious.
She hates that it’s delicious.
Hates that he was right about everything.
Hates feeling incompetent.
She’s not incompetent. She runs a successful blog. Manages her own business. Handles her life.
But here?
She’s useless.
And Beck knows it.
The humiliation burns worse than the cold.
Night falls.
The snow continues.
Iris watches it accumulate. Endless. Relentless.
She’s trapped here. For days. Maybe weeks.
With no wifi. No work. No distractions.
And a grumpy neighbor who thinks she’s an idiot.
This is a nightmare.
She reads more of Margaret’s journal.
The isolation was hard at first. I cried every night for a week. Missed the city. Missed my life. But slowly, I adjusted. Learned to appreciate the quiet. The solitude. The way nature doesn’t judge or demand or expect. It just is. And that’s enough.
Iris doesn’t cry.
But it’s close.
She misses Seattle. Misses Skye. Misses her life.
But some small part of her wonders.
What if she could adjust? Like Margaret did?
What if she learned the skills Beck thinks she lacks?
What if she proved him wrong?
The thought is appealing.
Spiteful, maybe. But appealing.
She falls asleep by the fire.
Planning.
Tomorrow, she’ll learn.
She’ll prove the grumpy mountain man wrong.
She’ll survive this.
Not just survive. Thrive.
Or at least not freeze to death.
That’s the goal.
Low bar. But realistic.
Outside, Beck lies awake in his own cabin.
Thinking about the city girl.
Who looked so lost. So cold. So out of place.
Who he shouldn’t care about.
But somehow does.
Margaret would have liked her. Would have wanted him to help.
So he’ll help.
Even if she’s stubborn. Defensive. Completely unprepared.
Even if she reminds him of things he’d rather forget.
Softness. Hope. The possibility of connection.
Things he gave up five years ago.
When the avalanche took Anna.
When he became the grumpy mountain hermit.
When he decided isolation was safer than love.
Iris Chen is temporary.
She’ll leave as soon as the snow melts.
Back to her city life.
And he’ll be alone again.
Like he prefers.
Like he deserves.
He tells himself that.
Almost believes it.
But sleep doesn’t come easily.
Because somewhere in the back of his mind, a thought forms.
Dangerous. Unwanted. Impossible to ignore.
What if she stays?
He pushes it away.
She won’t stay.
No one ever does.
The mountain is for people like him.
Broken. Isolated. Content with solitude.
Not for sunshine girls with phone addictions and impractical shoes.
She’ll leave.
He’s sure of it.
Almost.
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