The next morning, I woke up with a clearer head. Trevor's words still lingered in the back of my mind, like faint echoes, but they didn't hold the same power they had yesterday. I wasn't sure how I'd handle seeing him again, but I knew one thing for certain—I wasn't going to let him define me. Not anymore.

I stretched, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. Tucking my journal back under my pillow, I let out a deep breath. Writing in it last night had helped in ways I hadn't expected. The words I'd put on those pages felt like a shield, something I could carry with me when I faced the day.

The smell of pancakes greeted me as I descended the stairs, warm and familiar. It mingled with the faint scent of coffee, the hum of the heater, and the soft murmur of voices from the kitchen. I paused at the bottom step, letting the scene settle around me like a comforting blanket.

Lily and Sam were already at the table, their voices playful and light. Sam was leaning back in his chair, his fork twirling idly in his hand, while Lily was in the middle of what sounded like an exaggerated retelling of a pancake heist.

"You stole mine right off the plate," Sam said, his tone mock-serious. "I turned around for one second, and it was gone."

"I did not!" Lily shot back, though her mischievous grin suggested otherwise. "It was my pancake. You just weren't quick enough."

Mrs. Blake stood at the stove, a spatula in one hand and a plate in the other, flipping a pancake with the practiced ease of someone who'd done it a hundred times before. She glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of me lingering in the doorway.

"Good morning, sleepyhead!" she called, her voice cheerful. "I was starting to think you'd hibernate through the weekend."

"Morning," I murmured, sliding into a seat at the table. The warmth of the kitchen—both literal and emotional—made me feel more grounded than I had in days.

"You're lucky I didn't eat all the pancakes," Lily said, pointing her fork at me like it was an official warning. "I'm basically a pancake machine."

Sam snorted, rolling his eyes. "More like a pancake thief."

Mrs. Blake chuckled as she set a fresh stack of pancakes in front of me, their golden edges glistening with melted butter. "Don't worry, Emily," she said, smiling. "I made plenty. You won't have to fight Lily for these ones."

"Thanks," I said, picking up my fork. The first bite was warm and sweet, the kind of simple comfort that made everything else fade into the background.

Sam launched into a story about a video game he'd been playing, his excitement bubbling over as he described his latest achievement. Lily interrupted to suggest building another snow fort, her energy practically radiating across the table.

"Again?" Sam groaned, shaking his head. "We've already built, like, ten. What's next, a snow castle?"

"Actually, yes!" Lily said, her eyes lighting up. "This one could be the biggest one yet! We could even add a moat."

"You're obsessed," Sam muttered, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

Mrs. Blake turned from the stove, her expression patient. "Let's wait until it warms up a bit," she said, glancing out the window. "It's freezing out there right now."

Lily groaned, dramatically dropping her fork onto her plate. "Fine. But we're doing it later, okay?"

"Maybe," Mrs. Blake said with a small smile. "We'll see."

The conversation moved on, drifting from snow forts to weekend plans. I stayed quiet for the most part, content to listen as the family's voices filled the kitchen. The clink of forks against plates, the hum of the heater, and the occasional burst of laughter all blended into a soothing melody.

The smell of pancakes lingered in the air as I pushed my chair back from the table, my plate wiped clean of syrup and crumbs. Lily and Sam were still bickering, though their words carried more laughter than annoyance. Mrs. Blake hummed softly to herself as she stacked the plates and started loading the dishwasher.

"Alright, everyone," she said, turning to face us with a dish towel in hand. "I've got the kitchen covered. You've got the rest of the day to yourselves. Just don't break anything, okay?"

Sam immediately retreated to his room, mumbling something about finishing a campaign in his game. Lily, however, darted toward a box of craft supplies in the living room, calling out, "I'm making a snowman army with glitter helmets! Who's with me?"

I smiled at her enthusiasm but didn't answer right away. Instead, I wandered upstairs to grab a book, hoping to find a quiet corner to escape into. But as I passed the window on the landing, something made me pause. The snow outside shimmered in the sunlight, an unbroken expanse of white that stretched across the yard. It looked pristine, untouched, and more inviting than any story I could find on a page.

I headed back downstairs, pulling on my boots, scarf, and gloves before slipping outside. The cold air hit me immediately, nipping at my cheeks and nose, but it was a bracing kind of cold—the kind that made you feel alive. The snow crunched under my boots as I ventured into the yard, my breath puffing in small clouds.

At first, I didn't have a plan. I scooped up a handful of snow, rolling it experimentally between my palms. Before I knew it, I was shaping the beginnings of a structure, the snow piling higher and higher. It wasn't until the base began to take form that I realized what it was becoming: a throne.

"What are you doing?" Lily's voice broke through my thoughts, bright and curious.

I turned to see her standing on the porch, her scarf trailing behind her like a cape. "Making something," I said with a shrug. "Want to help?"

She bounded down the steps, her boots barely making a sound as they landed in the snow. "Of course I do!" she said, already scooping up handfuls of snow. "What are we making?"

"A throne," I said, stepping back to examine our progress. "For the Queen of the Snow Kingdom."

Her eyes lit up with excitement. "Yes! And I'll be the Snow Sorceress, protecting the kingdom with my magic!" She tied her scarf around her waist like a sash, striking a dramatic pose. "Together, we'll defeat the White Witch and save Narnia!"

"Narnia?" I asked, laughing as I rolled another snowball for the armrest.

"Obviously," Lily said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "This is clearly Narnia, and you're my loyal knight. Now get building, Sir Emily!"

We worked together, her chatter filling the cold air as we shaped the throne. Every now and then, she'd pause to add some "magical snow crystals" to the structure—a handful of glitter she'd stuffed into her pocket before coming outside. The throne began to take on a regal shape, its back high and arched, with armrests fit for a queen.

As we were putting on the finishing touches, the door creaked open again, and Sam appeared, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets. He looked at us for a moment, then rolled his eyes. "What are you two doing?"

"Saving Narnia," Lily declared, pointing at him with all the authority of a true sorceress. "And you're just in time to join us. You can be the knight who switches sides but ultimately helps defeat the White Witch!"

Sam groaned but trudged into the yard, picking up a stick from the snow. "Fine. But only because I'm bored."

"And because you want to be a hero," I added, smirking.

"Whatever," he muttered, swinging the stick like a sword.

The game unfolded quickly, the snow throne becoming the heart of our imaginary kingdom. Lily declared that the snow-laden bushes were the edge of the White Witch's forest, teeming with evil wolves and shadowy spies. Sam charged into battle with his stick-sword, slashing at invisible enemies and shouting, "For Narnia!"

"We need the Stone of Eternal Winter!" Lily shouted, holding up a pinecone she'd found near the edge of the yard. "If we destroy it, the White Witch's power will be broken forever!"

"Protect the throne!" I called, scooping up handfuls of snow to fortify our defenses. "If the throne falls, all of Narnia will be lost!"

Lily flung snowballs at imaginary wolves, her aim wild but enthusiastic. "Ice spell! Take that, you beasts!" she cried, her scarf flapping as she spun in circles, her snow-sorceress persona fully alive.

Sam, ever the reluctant hero, played along with surprising gusto, charging at invisible foes and even pretending to fall dramatically when hit by a snowball. "I'm wounded!" he shouted, collapsing into the snow. "But I'll fight on for Narnia!"

By the time we "defeated" the White Witch and secured the throne, we were all breathless and laughing, our cheeks red from the cold. The snow glittered around us, the afternoon sun casting a golden glow over the yard.

"That was epic," Lily declared, collapsing onto the ground with her arms outstretched. "Narnia is saved, and it's all thanks to us."

"For now," Sam said, leaning on his stick-sword like a weary warrior. "But the White Witch could always return."

"Not while we're here to protect it," I said, glancing at the snow throne one last time.

As we trudged back inside, leaving our magical kingdom behind, the warmth of the house wrapped around us like a blanket. Mrs. Blake greeted us with mugs of hot cocoa, the marshmallows floating on top like little clouds. The snow throne in the yard wasn't just a pile of snow anymore—it was a memory, a piece of magic we'd created together, and for a little while, the weight of the world felt lighter.

When we finally headed inside, our faces flushed from the cold and our gloves damp with melted snow, the warmth of the house enveloped us like a welcoming hug. The rich scent of cocoa and the faint crackle of the fireplace drew us into the kitchen, where Mrs. Blake stood with a tray of steaming mugs. The sight of them, topped with marshmallows that bobbed lazily on the surface, made my cold, tired body ache with anticipation.

"Looks like you three had quite the adventure out there," Mrs. Blake said, her smile widening as she set the tray down on the kitchen table. "I could hear the laughter all the way inside."

"You missed the best part, Mom!" Lily said, sliding into her chair and wrapping her hands around a mug. "We defeated the White Witch, saved Narnia, and built the coolest throne ever."

"Don't forget the part where you almost fell trying to throw a 'magic snowball,'" Sam teased, plopping down next to her. His smirk softened as he reached for his cocoa, the warmth of the moment clearly settling over him too.

"It was an ice spell, thank you very much," Lily retorted, her cheeks puffed indignantly. "And I didn't fall—I was dodging an invisible wolf."

Sam rolled his eyes but laughed. "Whatever you say, Snow Sorceress."

I couldn't help but grin at their banter, my own hands curling around the mug Mrs. Blake handed me. The first sip was heaven—rich, velvety chocolate that warmed me from the inside out. My fingers tingled as they thawed, and the sweet heat spread through my chest, chasing away the lingering chill.

"You should've seen it, Mrs. Blake," I said, looking up at her. "Lily really did play her part well. She commanded the whole battle."

"Of course I did," Lily said with a dramatic toss of her scarf. "A true sorceress always leads with confidence."

Mrs. Blake laughed, shaking her head. "It sounds like I missed quite the show. But I did manage to get a few photos before you all got too caught up in saving the world." She pulled out her phone, swiping through the images. The snow throne, glinting in the sunlight, looked almost regal in the photos. A few shots captured Lily mid-spin, Sam brandishing his stick-sword, and me grinning despite the cold.

"These are going on the fridge," Mrs. Blake announced, tapping a few favorites.

"Don't put up the one where my scarf's in my face!" Sam protested, leaning over to see. "I look ridiculous."

"That's what makes it perfect," Lily said, sticking her tongue out at him.

As the laughter faded and the last of the cocoa was drained, the energy in the room shifted. The excitement of the day gave way to a quieter, more reflective calm. Mrs. Blake gathered the empty mugs, humming softly as she rinsed them in the sink. Sam retreated to the living room, mumbling about a new level in his game, while Lily followed him, already plotting her next adventure.

I stayed at the table, staring at the photos Mrs. Blake had left open on her phone. The snow throne, the laughter, the playful banter—it all felt like a snapshot of something I hadn't realized I'd been missing. A sense of belonging. A memory I'd carry with me.

Mrs. Blake turned back to me, her hands drying on a dish towel. "Everything okay, Emily?"

I looked up at her, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Yeah," I said quietly. "I think it is."

Her eyes softened, and she reached out to touch my shoulder lightly. "You know, you're a big part of this family now. Days like today wouldn't be the same without you."

The words warmed me more than the cocoa had. I nodded, my voice steady as I replied, "Thanks. It really means a lot."

As the day wound down, I found myself retreating to my room, my heart full but calm. I sat on my bed, pulling a blanket around my shoulders and staring out the window at the snow-covered yard. The throne stood there, untouched and proud, a monument to the day's joy.

It started with a strange, dull ache that dragged me from the thin veil of sleep, a slow, persistent knot deep in my stomach. The faint light of morning filtered through the curtains, and I could hear the distant sound of birds chirping outside—a rare, peaceful quiet that could only mean it was Sunday. At first, I thought it was nothing—just leftover soreness from yesterday's play in the snow or a pang of hunger from skipping a late-night snack. But as I shifted under the warm weight of my blanket, the ache sharpened, a twisting sensation that made me wince.

The faint morning light seeped through the edges of the curtains, painting the room in soft gray hues. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the chill of the floor jolting me fully awake. My steps were hesitant as I made my way to the bathroom, each one accompanied by a quiet prayer that the discomfort would pass.

The bathroom light flickered for a second before steadying, casting a stark brightness over the small space. I moved automatically, still half in a sleepy fog, until I froze.

There was blood.

My heart thudded against my ribs, and my stomach twisted in a whole new way. I blinked, unsure if my eyes were playing tricks on me, but it was unmistakable. The sight alone felt like a weight pressing down on my chest, my breaths shallow and uneven.

The questions came like a tidal wave, crashing one after the other. Am I sick? Did I hurt myself somehow? Is something seriously wrong? My hands gripped the edge of the sink, the cool porcelain grounding me as my legs wavered beneath me.

I tried to breathe through the rising panic, but my mind wouldn't stop racing. The ache, the blood—it was too much. My reflection caught my eye in the mirror, pale and trembling, my lips pressed into a thin line to hold back the sobs building in my chest.

I sat down on the cold tile floor, hugging my knees to my chest, the questions still swirling, unanswered. The world outside the bathroom felt impossibly far away.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally mustered enough courage to leave the bathroom. My steps were slow and hesitant, each one weighed down by the unease swirling inside me. The morning light filtering through the windows made the house feel warm and welcoming, but it did little to ease the cold knot of fear in my stomach.

The sound of quiet movement from the kitchen reached my ears—the clink of a spoon against a mug, the faint rustle of a newspaper being turned. Mrs. Blake was at the table, her hair loosely tied back and a soft, contented expression on her face as she sipped her coffee. The normalcy of the scene made me pause in the doorway, unsure of how to break the fragile peace.

"Mrs. Blake?" My voice came out barely above a whisper, shaky and uncertain.

Her head snapped up immediately, her eyes scanning my face. The concern in her expression was instant and palpable. "Emily, what's wrong?" she asked, setting her mug down with a soft clink. She pushed the newspaper aside, her full attention now on me.

I hesitated, my hands twisting together as my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The words felt too big to say, and my chest tightened as I tried to find a way to explain. "I... I think something's wrong with me," I managed, my voice trembling.

Mrs. Blake was out of her chair in an instant, kneeling down so she could look me in the eyes. "What happened?" she asked gently. "Are you hurt?"

"No, but..." I trailed off, glancing down at the floor. "There's blood," I whispered. "I don't know what's happening."

Her face softened, her expression shifting from worry to understanding. "Oh, Emily," she said, her voice calm and reassuring. "I think I know what's going on, I believe what's happening is that you just got your first period. It's nothing to be afraid of—it's completely normal."

The words hung in the air for a moment as I tried to process them. "My period?" I repeated, the unfamiliarity of the term making it feel strange on my tongue.

Mrs. Blake nodded. "Yes. It's something that happens to most girls as they grow up. It's your body's way of telling you that you're growing and changing. It might feel scary because it's new, but it's perfectly natural. I promise."

Her calm, steady tone was like a balm to my frazzled nerves, though the confusion and unease hadn't entirely left me. "But... what do I do?" I asked, my voice small.

Mrs. Blake reached out and took my hand, her touch warm and grounding. "Don't worry," she said. "I'll show you everything you need to know. Let's go upstairs, and I'll explain."

I followed her up the stairs, my steps still hesitant but less weighed down by fear. In the bathroom, she opened a cabinet and pulled out a small box, holding it up for me to see.

"These are pads," she explained, opening the box and showing me how they worked. Her voice was calm and matter-of-fact, walking me through the process step by step. "They'll help keep you comfortable and clean. You just need to change them every few hours."

I watched closely as she demonstrated, her easy manner making the whole situation feel less overwhelming. "And those cramps you've been feeling? That's normal too," she continued. "They're caused by your body adjusting to the changes, and they're nothing to worry about. If they get really bad, there are things we can do to help—like a heating pad or some medicine."

I nodded slowly, absorbing her words. "How long does it last?" I asked tentatively. "The... bleeding?"

"Usually a few days," she said. "Everyone's different, but you'll start to notice patterns as time goes on. It might feel strange at first, but you'll get the hang of it. I promise."

By the time we finished, the tight knot of fear in my chest had loosened. Mrs. Blake's patient, gentle guidance had turned what felt like a crisis into something manageable. She placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, her eyes warm with encouragement.

"You handled that really well, Emily," she said. "I know it's a lot to take in, but you're doing great."

"Thanks," I said quietly, my voice steadier now. "I was really scared."

Her smile softened. "I know. But you don't have to face this alone. If you ever have questions or feel unsure about anything, you can come to me. That's what I'm here for."

Her words settled over me like a blanket, warm and reassuring. The storm of emotions I'd felt earlier still lingered, but it no longer felt so overwhelming. "Okay," I said, managing a small smile in return.

As I left the bathroom, I felt lighter, the weight of the morning's fear replaced by a tentative sense of confidence. It wasn't just the practical help that made a difference—it was knowing that someone cared enough to guide me through it.

The rest of the day was quieter, and though the cramps didn't go away completely, they weren't as overwhelming now that I knew what was happening. Mrs. Blake checked on me a few times, offering tea and a warm blanket when I curled up on the couch.

By the time evening came, the fear and confusion of the morning had faded, replaced by a strange kind of pride. It wasn't a day I'd expected, but it was one I'd gotten through—with Mrs. Blake's help. And for that, I was grateful.