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The sheets are fresh, and I’m greeted with my flower crown sitting on the bedside table. The Lupins have wilted a little, but my memory of them is still fresh. I smile at it, running my fingers over the soft petals. Less than twelve hours ago I was a crowned prince, ready to be ravished by his savior.

I giggle to myself, burrowing deeper into the bedding. Arden hadn’t dressed me in anything, he’d left me nude for my skin to breathe. All night I was wrapped up in his arms, breathing in his scent. His furry body brushing against mine with each breath.

Beyond the cabin, birds tweet and chirp in the trees, and sunlight pokes through the small window. I smile.

This is home. My home. Forever. I’ve chosen this life, and I don’t regret it one bit. For the first time, probably in my life, I let out a sigh of relief. Tears well in my eyes as I realize I’m free. Free to be who I am, to do what I want. No more punishments, no more rules or tests. No more following orders. I can make my own decisions now.

And my first decision will be coffee.

Peeling the blankets from my body, I quickly find a shirt from Arden’s closet and a pair of sleep shorts. My body aches, but my heart is full. Pulling the pants up my thighs, I gasp at how sensitive my skin is. Even after sleeping soundly, my body is still on fire.

The things that man did to me. Covering my body in his saliva, licking my armpits to mark me as his. I reach to the back of my neck, feeling the indents of his teeth across my nape. I’m his. But I’m also my own. For the first time since I can remember, I feel strong. Like I can stand on my own two feet without feeling like a simple gust of wind can knock me down.

Padding to the kitchen, the fire still crackles away against some fresh logs. I take a moment to watch the cabin. The wooden beams supporting the ceiling, the four-pane window, and the stone mantle. It feels like a real home. Like something that’s also alive, and I’m not just the inhabitant.

Flicking the kettle on, I put together my coffee. At least it’s nothing too complicated like an omelet, then I’d be in trouble.

The kettle whistles as the water reaches boiling point, and I pour it into my mug before adding a dash of long-life milk. It’s nothing like the coffee at my father’s house, where there’s a barista-style coffee machine in the kitchen, and the staff brings it to you, with thick foam on top.

But I like this. I prefer drinking the coffee I make. It feels like mine.

My gaze darts across the kitchen to the dining table. Four chairs sit empty, and my mind runs with ideas of Arden’s family coming to visit, maybe friends too. Yet as I let my mind create daydreams, my eyes snag on the small shelf built into the far wall.

I’ve never noticed it before. Possibly because it blends in so well with the wood the cabin’s made from or because, all this time, I’ve been so focused on the mountain man towering above me.

Setting my mug on the counter, I wander around the table to the shelf. Blank books and little knickknacks cover the surface. One of them being the Japanese bowl decorated in gold. I trail my fingers over the ceramic edge, but I’m drawn to the books. They’re small, yet thick, and as I open the first page, I find it’s a photo album.

Each page is designated to one photo. Clutching the album carefully, I take it to the sofa and get comfortable. Page after page, I learn little glimpses of Arden’s life. From photos of him as a kid holding a fish he’s caught, to him scaling a boulder in his Sasquatch form. He hasn’t changed a bit.

His hair’s grown longer but he’s still smiling and joyous, still has those gentle eyes and expressive features. In one photo, he’s grinning like a maniac, and the next, he’s crying his eyes out over spilled hot chocolate. He couldn’t be older than ten but I can see the man he’s become from these photos alone.

My stomach tightens as the thought rolls through my mind. I don’t have a clue where my childhood photos have gone. Mom kept them in her office, tucked neatly away in the top drawer of her cupboard. But when she died, my father cleared out that room the same weekend. He left it empty. Devoid of all her memories. Her smell. Like she never existed.

I wipe at my face, not realizing tears are rolling down my cheeks. I’ll never see my childhood photos again. They’ve probably been thrown out, long forgotten, either in the bottom of a bin or locked in a storage garage with the key missing.

I shut the album, shuffling back to the shelf to put it with the others when my eye is drawn back to that ceramic dish. I grasp it, clutching it as I sob.

“I miss you, Mom,” I whisper to no one. Maybe she hears me, maybe she doesn’t. I haven’t given much thought to where people go when they die. Maybe to heaven. It’s a nice idea. To believe the ones we’ve lost look down on us each day. Following us, guiding us.

I run my fingers over the golden veins, feeling the grooves and bumps of the dish. It’s been broken, but it’s now so much prettier. Arden’s words echo through my mind.

No one’s perfect.

My mom was. She was kind and generous. Not a single bad bone in her body. She’d tell the house staff to leave early, knowing she wanted to cook us dinner. She hummed in the mornings when styling her hair. But most of all, she told me to be myself, and that she’d love me no matter who I became.

A knock at the door has me flinching, my fingers tightening on the dish as I wander to the front door.

Arden had said his mom was coming to meet me, but surely it’s not ten o’clock yet? He isn’t even back from hunting.

I wrap my fingers around the handle, the door creaking as it slides open. I muster up my best smile as the cold morning air rushes in.

“Hello…” My voice dies on my tongue.

Ice splinters through my veins, every muscle in my body seizes, and all I can do is stare.

It’s like my mind hasn’t caught up, but my body knows already. I can’t breathe. My lungs won’t open. Acid climbs up my throat, my stomach churns, threatening to expel the coffee I just drank.

Standing before me, in a freshly-pressed pin stripe suit, with salt and pepper decorating his temples, my father scowls down his nose at me.