You wake up to a cold and quiet apartment. You roll from your stomach to your side and slide off the couch. You leave the blanket behind and look around for John. Last you had checked he went outside. First you check the bedroom, then the kitchen, and then the bathroom. Finding no evidence of the boy's presence, you open the front door, shivering as the cold air hits your exposed chest.

You look around for him, hoping that he isn't far. It doesn't take long for you to find him slumped against the side of the house, fast asleep. As quickly as you can you pull him onto your back and begin trudging back to the open door. Every step makes your muscles groan and your back ache. You were never strong, and this was pushing your limits.

You finally get him back inside the house. You plop him down on the couch and shut the door. You walk towards the bedroom, stopping on the way to throw a blanket over John. You grab up your own pile of blankets and carry it out into the living room, setting it down next to the couch. Tired and cold you curl up under the blankets and drift back to sleep.