Standing by the window she was looking outside through the rain. It was just dawning outside. She pulled her blanket closer around her bent shoulders. It ached in her fingers.
She saw her reflection in the window glass. A few strands of white and grey hair. Wrinkled eyes. Pursed lips. Drooping neck. She smiled, a bitter smile, and didn't see any sparkle in the reflection of her eyes.
She looked at the clock, 6:58AM, Friday. Her son may come tomorrow to visit them, or may not.
She poured a cup of French Press coffee with soaked Spanish beans and sat down at the table. She knew he wouldn't enjoy coffee in the morning, he never did.
The book she was reading last night was still laying there. She thought to make a trip to the library. Opened the book and started reading.
The left over coffee went cold. The fire in the fireplace was too far away to warm her up. The blanket had slipped off again and she felt her shoulders were freezing. She reached back and touched one shoulder, bony and wrinkly. She smiled. Her shoulders were not touched for ages it felt. She smiled, a bitter smile.
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