A Christmas tale
It was cold. The threadbare rug that did nothing to stop the chill from getting to her heart – while she could hear the man snore. Comfortable, as comfortable one could be, in the rickety old bed that was their only piece of furniture. It was 5 am. She had to hurry if she wanted to sell her wares at better prices, they needed all the money that could be spared in this punishing winter. “They”, she scoffed inwardly. Her husband who had returned drunk, with not a single penny on him. It was a festival day, she had heard – “Christmas”, they called it. People got gifts from an old man with white beard. She, had barely escaped a beating that he was to far gone to deliver, safely distancing herself from him. The pale winter sun had risen. She had to leave. With trembling hands, she pulled the latch across their flimsy door, already dreading what would come once he realized, and adding more to the list of already growing expenses that her frugal earnings would allow. She clasped the thin sh