An icy wind whistled through the broken, abandoned buildings that formed, the once prosperous, St. Logan’s Cement Works. Three floors up, we huddled desperately for warmth in the corner of a derelict staff room. Droplets of oily condensation fell from the leaking roof, hissing against the single, glowing orange bar of our fire.
Ellie-May could never have foreseen a moment, or indeed a life, like this. I doubt she’ll ever get over the rejection, let alone the deeply hurtful words, both said and written. I only pray she’s strong enough – for herself, and our child.
Ellie-May exhaled a deep breath and tightly squeezed my hand. It was time.
These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.