The Kane-Harper family had learned, over decades of love and ice and water, that the best stories never truly end—they simply hand the puck to the next line and trust them to carry it forward.

It was a golden autumn weekend, the leaves in Evergreen Hollow at their peak, the pond reflecting a sky so blue it hurt to look at. The house was full again, but this time for a milestone no one had quite prepared their hearts for.

Rowan Kane—eighty now, silver-haired and slower, but ...