Jenny pressed her forehead against the frostbitten glass of the old mountain cabin. Below her, the trail vanished into a thick soup of snow and fog. The storm had rolled in faster than the forecast warned, and now the only road back to the base was gone.

“You have to climb, Jenny.” The voice came from behind her, Charlie, the guide. Stoic, experienced, and with the annoying habit of always being right. She turned. “Climb up? Are you insane? We barely made it here alive!” Charlie didn’t flinch. “If we wait, we freeze. The storm’s getting worse. The upper outpost is two miles up. Heated shelter, radio, supplies. This place won’t hold.”

Jenny’s legs ached from the last ten miles. Her lungs still burned from the thin air. She hated climbing. She hated being dragged on this “transformative trek” by her well-meaning older brother. And she especially hated that this was his last birthday gift before the accident. But the climb…up. That felt like punishment. “I’m not strong enough,” she muttered. Charlie knelt, rummaged through his pack, and handed her a pair of leg warmers. “You don’t need to be strong. You need to move.”

Reluctantly, she laced them on. The first hour was brutal. The slope was steep and icy, and the wind howled like a living thing. Charlie led silently, only occasionally glancing back to ensure she hadn’t fallen. Her thoughts spiraled with every step, of how she’d avoided everyone since her brother’s death, of the angry texts she never sent, the guilt that clawed at her when she laughed too loud or smiled too long.

She slipped once, badly, scraping her hand on a jagged rock. The sting almost made her cry, but Charlie simply offered a glove and said, “Keep moving.” Halfway up, the snow thickened. She wanted to stop. To scream. To give in. But something strange started to happen. Her legs found a rhythm. Her breath matched the beat of her steps. And slowly, the noise in her head quieted. She was moving, not from obligation, but something else. Adrenaline was coursing through her body, pushing her at and above her limit.

When they finally reached the outpost, her entire body throbbed with exhaustion. But inside, when the door shut behind her and warmth washed over her, Jenny realized she wasn’t just tired. She was relieved. Charlie handed her a tin mug of hot chocolate. “You did good,” he said. “I hated every second of that,” she replied, sipping the hot chocolate. He smiled faintly. “Sometimes we hate the things that save us.”

She didn’t reply right away. But later, when she radioed the rescue team and saw her reflection in the frosted window, wind-burnt, scraped, alive, she understood. Climbing had hurt. But staying would have killed her. And maybe, just maybe, she was stronger than she thought.