My name is Eleanor, and I never thought I’d find myself standing in the biting wind outside my own front door, suitcase in one hand, my daughter’s tiny fingers clutching the other. The snow was falling thick and fast over our little town of Whitby, muffling the world, but inside me, everything was screaming. That night, I learned that love, trust, and hope are as fragile as the ice beneath our feet, and that sometimes, you have to lose everything to find yourself again.