PART 1: Still Waters

The morning Morgan arrived in Pine Grove, a pale mist clung to the trees lining the lake. Her father’s old cabin, vacant for nearly a decade, stood crooked at the end of a gravel path. The screen door creaked a protest as she stepped inside, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, the air heavy with dust and memory.

It had been six months since Jeremy’s death, but time had only blurred the edges, not dulled them. When the counselor suggested a change of scenery, she thought of the cabin. Not because it was peaceful—though it was—but because it was unfinished. Like her.

She set her bag down on the floorboards and opened the windows. The lake shimmered beyond the pines, unchanged. Morgan stood at the threshold for a long moment, letting the quiet settle around her. For the first time in weeks, she breathed without effort.

In the corner of the living room sat her father’s fishing hat, sun-bleached and frayed, still perched on its hook. The sight of it triggered a flicker of something familiar—her dad’s chuckle, the smell of lake water and sunscreen. She reached out and touched the brim. It was a comfort. Tangible.

She stayed that first day without unpacking, curling up on the old couch with a blanket and a notebook she hadn’t written in since the funeral. She scribbled aimlessly, unsure if the words mattered. At some point, she dozed off to the sound of birds and the lapping shore.

The next morning brought sunlight and a knock on the door.

Morgan blinked. She wasn’t expecting anyone.

The man on the porch had a coffee mug in one hand and a dog leash in the other. The retriever at his feet wagged furiously.

“Hi,” he said. “Sorry to barge in. I’m Luke—live two cabins down. I saw the lights last night. Thought maybe someone broke in.”

“No break-in,” Morgan said. “I’m just… visiting. My dad owned this place.”

Luke studied her for a second. “You’re Alan’s daughter.”

Morgan nodded. “Morgan.”

Luke smiled—genuine, but not too much. “Welcome back.”

He didn’t push. Just offered the mug—fresh coffee, from the smell of it.

She took it without thinking. “Thanks.”

“I remember you from summers,” Luke added. “You and your dad used to fish off the dock before sunrise. I was the kid who always fell out of his canoe.”

Morgan surprised herself with a laugh. It was soft, short-lived. But real.

“Right,” she said. “You were the soggy one.”

“Still am,” he said, grinning. “Come by anytime if you need anything.”

As he walked off with his dog, Morgan stood holding the warm mug, her fingers wrapped tight around it like it might hold her together.