The fire had burned out and she was alone on the couch. A cold dawn illuminated the room with flat, gray light. She looked over at the empty hearth. Ren had raked out the ashes, and kindling and a fresh supply of logs were set nearby, ready for a new fire to be built. She wondered that there was no other form of heating in the cabin. It was a very basic home, more like a vacation rental that hadn’t been upgraded for year-round living. The threadbare furniture and fittings, the basic build of the kitchen, told her money was tight in this home. Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, she wandered to the kitchen hoping Ren might be there, but in her heart she knew she was alone. Her insecurities rose and she had to wrestle them down, losing herself in the routine chore of making breakfast to ignore her misery. In a corner of the kitchen an antiquated kerosene heater belted out heat, and Isabelle blessed the small luxury. Ren had left sooty fingerprints all over the countertop from her earlier hearth tending, and Isabelle tutted loudly as she wrung out a dishcloth and quickly wiped the surfaces clean.
