She sat hunched over the fireplace, shielding her son from the cold. He was already dozing off, dear thing. She sneezed as quietly as she could, so as not to wake him, and rocked him slowly and gently, almost to the rhythm of the howling wind outside. The rain showed no signs of letting up.
In the silence of the storm and the wood crackling cheerfully in the fire, the old wooden front door swung open in fractions, creaking at every stage. She kept on rocking with no reaction.