With the poker firm in her hands, she unlocked the door a crack, bracing to threaten and scream if needed. An elderly woman stood there, snow crusting her coat, cheeks flushed from the chill. The older woman murmured, voice thin, “Oh, I thought this was my place. Please, it’s cold.” No panic, just weariness and mild confusion in her pale eyes.
Lauren stepped aside. The woman shuffled in, stamping snow from her boots. Lauren bolted the door against the wind, helping her to the armchair by the fire. “I’m Mabel,” she said, teeth chattering. “Got turned around. You’re an angel for this. I thought someone was following me…” Lauren nodded, already filling the kettle.