After finally securing a long-overdue holiday, my plan was blissfully simple: do nothing. I envisioned myself curled up under a plush wool blanket by the fire, sipping hot cocoa, and letting the profound silence of the mountains wash over me. That was my idea of pure luxury.

But as I drove up the winding, private road leading to my lodge, a familiar vehicle caught my eye, a jarring note in the pristine symphony of white. Parked in the guest space was Charlotte’s gleaming white luxury SUV, the very one for which I was still quietly making the monthly payments. Next to it sat another vehicle, a snow-covered sedan that had to belong to her husband Liam’s parents.