The rain was falling down in sheets, down upon the dark head of the very pregnant woman who waddled on down the side of the road. She was cold, her breaths coming out in plumes of vapor between clacking teeth. Her fingers were so numb that she couldn't tell if she was still holding onto the handles of her bags anymore. She had to get out of the rain.

The facade of a building took shape slowly, for it was hard to see with the relentless pelting. Ruth couldn't do it anymore, for she would catch her death if she didn't find shelter. She stumbled toward the door and let her fingers open. The bags fell to the ground and she pressed herself against the portal. Then, with the flat of her hand, she hit the door a few times because making a fist was not happening.

"Hello?" she called... "Somebody... please... anybody," was said in a smaller voice as she pressed her forehead to the wood of the door frame.