So, clutching the boots to your chest, you follow mum back to where you were staying. It was a three-story place on stilts that according to mama stopped the snow from blocking the door. The door even had a metal mesh ramp going up that snow fell through. There’s a girl rugged up in a scarf and beanie at the concierge, reading a book. She gives you a small smile as mum leads you in.
You’re about to put your boots in the drying room when mum says, “Come on, lets get up stairs so you can get all clean, then we can get your stuff washed.”
The mention of upstairs sends another fear through you: what will Lucy think? She was younger than you, but not wetting herself younger. She didn’t even need pullups at night anymore.