Every morning she woke at 5 o’clock. Like clockwork. In the winter months, when the nights were long, she would sit at her kitchen table and sip her tea to pass the long hours until daylight.
This morning, she cupped her tea in her hands, hoping it would warm her. Across the table sat another cup, half-empty, never again to be emptied or refilled.
Her clock had stopped at 5:35. The kitchen clock read 6:22. She was fine. The other her slumped in her chair. The one who was quite dead.
No hurry. She would wait for sunrise.