My baby was still alive.

If my son had not surrendered, neither would I.

Eventually, just as I felt myself losing the battle against the cold, an intense beam of light swept across the mountainside.

The roar of helicopter blades followed, and through the swirling snow, a black rescue helicopter appeared overhead.

A rescuer descended toward the ledge on a rope with practiced control.

When he finally reached me and pulled away his face covering, however, I momentarily forgot the cold and pain because there was something unmistakably familiar about him.

Silver hair.