Page 1 of Daddy of the Mountain

Chapter 1

Iarrived in Snowview just as dusk thickened the shadows between the trees. The cold hit me first—sharp, clean, and more honest than anything I’d felt in months. It clawed through my coat like it wanted to strip away every piece of the city still clinging to me. Good, I thought, let it.

The cottage was small, almost too quaint, but I barely dropped my bags inside before stepping back out. Sitting still wasn’t an option, not with this kind of energy crackling under my skin. Eighty-hour weeks and constant phone pings had left me hollowed out and buzzing all at once. My therapist said something about grounding exercises—"reconnect with nature" or whatever—but all I knew was I needed to move.

It wasn’t like she’d prescribed this trip for me, not exactly. She just strongly suggested Snowview as a place that I might like to visit.

“Sometimes,” she’d said, rolling her pen between fingertips, “we just need a reset. Something to shock our brain out of the usual patterns of anxiety and panic. A little time to remind you that you don’t need to be on the edge all the time.”

I’d scoffed, but when I’d googled the place, something about it called to me. A chance to explore. A chance to be completely out of my comfort zone. A chance to just be.

I took it.

At the edge of the property, a trail snaked up into the woods, disappearing between the firs like a dare. I decided I’d have a quick look. I’d walk the trail for half an hour, then head back down, grab some dinner from a diner, and hit the hay. I was here to explore, and there was no time like the present.

I didn't bother taking my pack off. I'd packed lightly – a few changes of clothes, and my toiletries. I figured it would be good exercise to take it up the mountain with me. Burn some calories with the extra weight.

My boots crunched over old snow as I started climbing. The air burned my lungs, sharp and alive, and for once, I didn’t hate the feeling. No emails here. No honking cars or fluorescent lights. Just me, the mountains, and the sound of my own breathing.

I tried that stupid breathing exercise she suggested: five counts in, hold, exhale slow. I could still hear my heartbeat pounding too fast, but at least it wasn’t panic. Not this time. This was different. It felt . . . good, almost. Like my body remembered how to function without a dozen fires to put out.

The path narrowed as I went higher, pine needles brushing my sleeves. The scent hit me—crisp and green, with that faint bite of sap. I hadn’t smelled anything like it in years. Maybe ever.

"Yeah," I muttered under my breath, "this is good."

The trail was barely a trail now, just a thin line of packed snow snaking between trees that seemed to crowd closer the farther I went. Fir branches hung low, heavy with frost, brushing my arms like they were trying to hold me back. The silence wrapped around me—no cars, no voices, no hum of streetlights. Just me. My boots crunching. My breath puffing out in little clouds.

I stopped and tugged at my scarf, fingers stiff with cold. Had it been this freezing when I started? I didn’t think so. The kind of cold that settled into your bones had crept in while I wasn’t paying attention. I glanced behind me, half expecting the cottage lights to be there as a reassurance, but there was nothing. Just shadows swallowing the trail.

"Okay, Ally," I muttered under my breath, trying to sound casual, steady. "You’ve done hikes before. This is nothing."

But then the sky shifted. Clouds rolled in fast, thick and gray, blotting out what little light was left. One second, I could see the outline of the peaks above me; the next, they were gone. It was like someone had flipped a switch. I stared up, heart kicking against my ribs.

"Don’t freak out," I whispered. My voice sounded stupid against the quiet. Weak.

Still, something about the way those clouds swallowed the sky made my stomach twist. Like I’d overstayed my welcome. Like the mountain wanted me gone.

I turned back toward the way I came—but paused. The air pressed down on me, heavy. Loaded. Maybe it was the sudden dark or the bite of the wind slicing through my jacket, but unease clawed its way up my spine. I couldn’t shake it.

"Come on, it’s just weather," I told myself. "Nothing’s gonna—"

Snowflakes. Big, lazy ones drifting down at first, soft and harmless. Then more. Thicker. Faster. Within seconds, the trail blurred beneath the fresh layer. I pulled my jacket tighter and picked up my pace.

"Alright," I said, louder this time, as if hearing my own voice might help. It didn’t. “I just need to head back.”

The snow coated my sleeves, clung to my hair. My boots slipped on the hidden ice beneath the drifts, and I stumbled, catching myself on a tree trunk. The bark was rough against myglove, grounding me for just a moment. Long enough to glance up and realize I couldn’t tell where the hell I was anymore.

"Shit," I hissed, spinning in place. Which way had I come from? Every tree looked the same now—tall, straight, and endless. The narrow path I’d followed was buried under fresh snow.

I sucked in a breath, counting to five like the therapist taught me. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. But my lungs felt too small, my chest too tight. My heartbeat drowned out everything else, thudding in time with the panic rising in my throat.

The wind picked up, sharp and biting. Snow whipped sideways, obscuring everything in stinging white. Ice crystals pricked my face, slipping past the edges of my scarf. My feet trudged forward, aimless now. No landmarks, no direction—just the desperate hope that putting one foot in front of the other would lead me somewhere safe. Somewhere familiar.

"Get a grip," I rasped, but it came out as a wheeze. My breathing was shallow, each inhale catching like a hiccup. I tried again—five counts in, hold, exhale slow—but the rhythm slipped away, lost in the howl of the wind.

"Not now," I begged, clutching at my chest as the pressure built. My legs shook, exhaustion and panic teaming up to drag me down. My throat constricted, a vice squeezing tighter with every step.

This was so desperately, achingly unfair.

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