At 11:47 p.m., the heater died, the cabin went black for three seconds, and my ex-wife texted me a photo of my best friend standing beside the only bed.
Under it, Elise wrote: Sign the house over by Monday, or I send this to everyone.
Sophie Reynolds was sitting across from me in my hoodie, wrapped in a plaid blanket, her face pale from the cold and fury.
We had come to the mountains for a quiet weekend.
