PART 4 — THE LETTER BENEATH THE FLOORBOARDS

The first snowfall arrived three weeks earlier than Torvald had predicted.

By morning, the mountain cabin was surrounded by a white silence, and the narrow trail leading down to Garnet Falls had nearly disappeared.

Sigrid stood beside the kitchen window, watching snow gather on the woodpile.

She had been at the mountain cabin for nearly a month.

And for the first time in twenty-nine years, nobody had called her downstairs because something needed fixing.

Torvald had given her a room of her own, a key to the supply chest, and something even more unfamiliar: the freedom to decide how she wanted to spend her days.

She had taken over the kitchen, repaired a broken fence, organized the winter provisions, and discovered that she enjoyed the quiet more than she had expected.

But there was one thing she couldn’t understand.

Torvald never spoke about the money he had brought down from the mountains.

He never mentioned the three years’ wages people in town had whispered about.

And whenever she asked about his previous life, he changed the subject.

One evening, while Torvald was outside checking the horses, Sigrid noticed a loose floorboard beneath his writing desk.

She lifted it carefully.

Inside was a leather envelope, tied with a faded blue ribbon.

Her name was written across the front.

Sigrid Edwardson.

She stared at it.

Torvald had never told her he possessed anything addressed to her.

Before she could open it, the cabin door swung inward.

Torvald stood in the doorway, snow on his shoulders.

His expression changed when he saw the envelope.

“Where did you find that?”

“Under your floor.”

He set down his gloves.

“Then I suppose it’s time you knew.”

Sigrid untied the ribbon.

Inside was a letter dated nearly twelve years earlier.

It was from her father.

Torvald,

If you are reading this, I have probably run out of time to make things right.

My eldest daughter, Sigrid, is stronger than anyone in this valley understands. But strength should not be a punishment. I have watched her give everything to a family that has forgotten to ask what she wants.

If you ever have the chance, give her a choice. Not an obligation. Not another burden. A choice.

And please, don’t let anyone convince her that she must earn the right to be loved.

Sigrid lowered the letter.

“My father knew you?”

Torvald nodded.

“He helped me when I first came to the valley. I was younger, broke, and trying to find work after my family lost our farm.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to think I brought you here because of a promise I made to a ᴅᴇᴀᴅ man.”

Sigrid looked at him for a long moment.

“Did you?”

Torvald shook his head.

“I brought you here because I met a woman who deserved to be asked what she wanted. Your father’s letter only reminded me how long she’d been waiting for someone to ask.”

Sigrid folded the letter carefully.

Then she noticed something written on the back.

A sentence in her father’s handwriting:

The deed is not where they think it is.

“What deed?” she whispered.

Torvald’s expression grew serious.

Before he could answer, three hard knocks struck the cabin door.

A man’s voice called from outside.

“Torvald Cain! Open up. We’ve come about the Edwardson property.”

Sigrid looked at Torvald.

He went very still.

Because the man outside was not a stranger.

It was her uncle, Henrik Edwardson.

The same man who had taken control of her father’s affairs after his death.

And the same man who had told Sigrid there was nothing left for her to inherit.