Raymond Carter had lived alone for twelve long winters in a crooked, ivy-draped house at the edge of a quiet town folded into the countryside. Once a schoolteacher known for his dry wit and iron patience, Raymond had faded into a life of habit and silence after losing his wife, Marlene, more than a decade ago.
At eighty-two, he still mowed his lawn with a rattling push mower and insisted on hauling in his own firewood, even when his joints screamed in protest. He had no children, no close family left. Just a house full of old books, a temperamental radio, and a lifetime of memories that creaked louder in winter.