Outside the cabin, the wind howled through the trees, while inside, the old woman's fire was nearly out

Outside the cabin, the wind howled through the trees, while inside, the old woman's fire was nearly out. She stared, longingly, at the flames. These final few minutes would be the last bit of warmth until the resupply 4 months fro mnow.

She remembered fondly when Allan had still been with her; someone to go out and chop wood in the frozen Alaskan plains. Someone to bring back the wood, kindle a fire, and cook soup for her. She had been the luckiest mother.

If only Allan had wanted to live in hte big city; she wouldn't have had to move out to the backwoods to be watched over by her only son. Why had he wanted this life of no connection, of isolation from the outside world, and why had he committed to this idea so drastically, choosing a cabin 50 miles away from the nearest sign of civilization. Mary had moved here, of course, because she had no other options. Her husbanbd had passed away nearly 5 years ago, and with only 2000$ and a few unscratched lottery tickets to her name, elderly living facilities were not an option.

The first few months were peaceful in the woods. She could focus on her reading, her knitting, and her relaxation while Allan toiled away in the woods. He'd leave her in peace in the morning, and come back around mid evening with a pile of wood and fresh game he had killed. They would chat about life, about all the things wrong with the world, while he would ladle her soup and feed her bits of rabbit or whatever else he had scored.

Then one day, he didn't come back. Without connection to a phone line, and not enough strength in her bones to make it more than a mile outside of the cabin, Mary watched the last bit of fire go out, the memory of her Allan and her easy life in the woods dying along with it.