The first time tech magnate Julian Vance understood that his wife had been fading away for years, she was already a ghost.

The storm the locals had been whispering about finally hit the Oregon coast. It wasn't a gentle rain; it was a violent, howling gale that knocked out the power grid for the entire county within twenty minutes.

Clara was in her cabin, lighting a kerosene lamp, when the wind hit her front door with the force of a freight train. The temperature inside plummeted instantly. She wrapped herself in a thick blanket, listening to the agonizing creak of the old timber.

Suddenly, a frantic knocking sounded over the roar of the wind.

Clara rushed to the door and threw the deadbolt. Julian burst inside, completely soaked, carrying two large bundles of firewood and a heavy battery-powered lantern.

"The power lines are down on the highway," Julian yelled over the wind as he kicked the door shut. "The temperature is dropping below freezing. Your cabin isn't insulated well enough."

"I'm fine, Julian!"

"You're shivering," he said softly, his tone shifting from commanding to desperately gentle. He walked past her, dropping the wood by the small cast-iron stove. He immediately set to work building a fire, his hands moving with frantic purpose.

Clara watched him. He was soaked to the bone, shivering himself, but his only focus was getting the fire started for her.

Once the flames caught, bathing the small living room in a warm orange glow, Julian stood up.

"I'll go back across the street now," he said quietly, not looking at her. "Keep the fire fed. Lock the door."

He reached for the doorknob.

"Julian, stop," Clara said.