I do not own any of these characters, or Narnia itself.

I woke up shivering. My absurd sister always insisted on having all the windows open in her house, no matter how cold the weather. Lucy and I had brought extra blankets from home, but tonight it just wasn't enough. I snuggled closer to my sleeping daughter, but she was too cold herself to warm me up much. Reluctantly, I slid out of bed, determined to get a little warmth.

As I struggled to close the window (which had probably not been closed since my last visit), I heard Lucy stirring in her sleep. Suddenly the window gave way and slammed shut before I could stop it. Lucy jerked upright, and I hurried back to her side.

"It's all right, Lucy," I whispered as I scrambled under the blankets. "I was just closing the window so it won't be quite so cold in here."

Lucy ran her hand over the blankets and peered at me through the darkness, as if she did not quite know where she was. "Susan?"

I took her hand and laid it on my cheek. "No, dear. It's Mother."

"Oh." The single syllable sounded terribly flat and dejected. "We're in England, aren't we?"

I nodded, and my little girl flopped down beside me and turned her face to the wall. Confused and worried, I lay there for a few minutes wondering what was so wrong with being in England. Lucy had never been anywhere else. Then I heard a muffled sob.

"Lucy? Whatever is the matter?"

To my great surprise, she rolled over and flung her arms around me. "Oh, Mum! I dreamed about home, and it was so beautiful, and I was about to join in the Great Snow Dance even though I knew I would get a snowball in my face, and the music was so lovely, and I miss it so much!"

I rubbed her back and let her cry for a little while, and when her tears began to subside, I spoke soothingly to her.

"Don't worry, Lu. We're going home tomorrow morning, and then you won't have to be homesick anymore."

She shook her head. "I don't mean Finchley. I mean Narnia. Oh, Mum, I'm tired of keeping fifteen years of my life secret from you. You're my mother, and it's time I told you the truth."

"I-I'd appreciate that, Lucy," I managed to say through my shock. How in the world could my nine-year-old daughter have spent fifteen years of her life away from me?

She sat up and smiled at me through her tears. "It was while we were at the Professor's house. I found a wardrobe full of lovely fur coats..."