Leaning against the window, I wait quietly as the snow falls outside. Each year it snows like this and each year I wonder what would happen if there was too much snow, so much that the roof caved in. Where would we go? We don’t have neighbors for miles. Right now it’s piled up so high that only a small sliver of light can poke through at the top. In the other room my mother sits by the fire in the near darkness of this house. She says that she’s waiting for our father to come home, but she performs each of her actions slowly as if preparing for the end.

“Simon,” she says. It is the first time she’s called for me since the day before. I walk towards her my eyes drawn to her silhouette in front of the golden fire. When I reach her I stand in front of her as she sits. I look into her eyes and I see the same fire and warmth reflected in them. But she blinks and the fire becomes more harsh. It roars with a certain fury. She takes my face in her hands. I kneel to make it easier for her to hold me. She lets go. And leans back in her chair with the same stoic expression she always wears. “There is much on your mind child,” she says. “Tell me what it is.”