I went toward it fast.

And I found my mother.

She was standing over a hot stove with Emrys tied to her back in a wrap, one hand reaching around to pat him, the other stirring a heavy pot, and the kitchen was easily thirty degrees warmer than the room where the other two sat in the cold.

Her blouse was soaked through.

Her face was gray.

No one had even switched on the little fan on the counter.