Chapter 1: The Night the World Changed

The day I met her was the day my life split in two—before the nightmare, and after.

1

We’d been hiking through the Appalachians for more than six hours, completely exhausted, but our group leader insisted we push on to the summit and camp there.

My calves burned with every step, sweat slicking my back beneath my battered old REI pack. But nobody in the group dared challenge Dave. He was a retired Marine, all Southern drawl and don’t-mess-with-me glare. Add to that the storm clouds stacking up to the west, and everyone just gritted their teeth and kept moving.

When night finally fell, we realized how wise that decision was.

The Blue Ridge Mountains, somewhere along the wild border of Tennessee and North Carolina, hold one of the last great stretches of untouched forest in the Southeast. The air tasted of pine and woodsmoke, and somewhere nearby, a fox barked in the dark. The peaks rolled on like endless waves, and the Milky Way spilled across the sky like powdered sugar. Lying on my back at the summit, cool air tickling my skin and a thousand crickets humming, I stared up at the stars—dazzling, infinite. It felt impossibly romantic. In that moment, all the exhaustion of the day seemed worth it.

A little fire crackled at the center of our makeshift camp. Our local guide, a wiry Appalachian named Gus, had packed along his homemade corn whiskey and a battered old Martin guitar. He sang a tune he’d written—called “There Are No Good People In This World,” which made everyone laugh at first, but it was weirdly catchy. We sat in a ragged circle, sipping Gus’s whiskey out of plastic mugs and joining in the chorus, as if the mountain air had washed away the worries and expectations we’d carried up with us.

By the time I crawled into my tent, muscles twitching with fatigue and a buzz humming in my head, the fire had burned down to glowing embers. My last sight before zipping up was the sky, a blue-black ocean freckled with stars.

And then, she came.

She quietly unzipped my tent. A faint, alluring fragrance filled the cramped space.

It wasn’t the smell of bug spray or sweat—it was floral, musky, impossibly out of place up here. She must’ve spritzed herself with perfume before coming over. I remember thinking: after a whole day of hiking, only someone bold—or maybe a little reckless—would bother to freshen up just to sneak into a stranger’s tent.

“Are you asleep?” she asked, sitting down beside me.

My drowsiness vanished. I sat up to look at her. My mind scrambled for something to say, but all I could think about was how close her knee was to mine, how the silence pressed in, daring me to break it.

There were five men and three women in our group, and she was the most striking of them all.

A slender face, delicate features, and a pink Yankees cap that gave her this impossible mix of youthfulness and intrigue. Her long, straight legs were poured into faded Levi’s, and the moonlight glimmered off her fair ankles above scruffy hiking boots. She was the kind of woman you remembered instantly.

Even more impressive, she sang beautifully—her English songs were as fluent as her Spanish ones.

She had a voice like honey poured over gravel, and when she sang Fleetwood Mac or a bit of Shakira around the fire, the whole group seemed to lean in closer. But I knew, today we were just a group of strangers, brought together by this trip. There would be no story after this.

So I simply appreciated it—traveling with a beautiful woman made the scenery even more captivating.

It was enough to catch glances at her during the hike, or listen to her humming as we crossed creeks. I never expected that, at this moment, she would take the initiative to sit next to me, her profile softly illuminated by the dim lantern.

“You wanna?” she asked.

“Do… do what?” My heart pounded. I had a feeling what she meant, but I didn’t dare believe it.

She took off her cap and shook out her hair, and the air in the tent seemed to soften.

There was something hypnotic in the way her hair fell over her shoulders, catching the yellow light. She looked straight at me, unblinking, her lips just barely parted.

“If you hesitate any longer, you’ll miss your chance.” She moved closer.

Her eyes caught the moonlight—wide, searching, impossible to look away from.

“Isn’t it a bit inappropriate? The tents are so close,” I said. I didn’t refuse; I can’t deny my heart was racing. I’m not some enlightened monk—my mind was far from calm.

I glanced toward the flap—everyone else’s tents were only a dozen feet away. I could hear someone snoring. Still, my voice was unsteady.

“Come look at the stars with me again.” She leaned in and breathed warm air into my ear. “Just behind your tent, there’s a slope.”

With that, she gave me a gentle smile and slipped out of the tent.

I wanted to calm down, but I couldn’t.

My pulse drummed in my ears. This was one of those moments—no script, no expectations. In the wilderness, a chance encounter, just seeking a moment’s pleasure.

We didn’t even know each other’s names.

I unzipped my sleeping bag and quietly slipped out.