I never planned for it to happen like this.
The blizzard hit hard that night — the worst one in years. Snow piled up fast, wind howled like a wild animal, and the power went out across half the neighborhood. I was sitting in the dark, wrapped in blankets, when my neighbor Mr. Reed knocked on my door. He said his generator could handle one extra person and that it was too dangerous to stay alone. His twenty-four-year-old son, Noah, was already there helping keep things running.
I grabbed a small bag with some clothes and followed him through the driving snow to their big house next door. The walk was short but brutal, snow stinging my face.
Mr. Reed is forty-seven, tall and broad-shouldered with salt-and-pepper hair, strong arms built from years of manual work, and a calm, deep voice tha
