The setting sun provided no warmth, it was on its way to escape. Perhaps next it would see a sunrise over the Sahara, a lazy afternoon in Micronesia. But it had no interest in Maine at dusk, in keeping Hannah warm. She pulled her brown down-filled jacket closer to her body. Her every step trudging, crunching on the hard snow underfoot. The office was just down the road, around a path that took carefree minutes in summer, back when she would gaze up at the heavy sky. Now she fixed her stare on the ground before her. A sniffle.

Steady winds whipped the snowdrifts, hard pebbles of ice scattered through the air and struck against her pink cheeks. She kept her head down.

Every ice drop, fierce and frigid, bit at her wind-whipped skin. Each uncaring hit from the cold chipped away at her old hopes, exposing her to a soul-naked chill.

Despite her caution—a misstep—and a quick fall right on her tailbone. Hannah winced, then looked around to see if anyone saw. Much to her relief, there was no one to help her up.