I brought a pizza order to a senior

The cooking area was dark, illuminated solely by the ajar refrigerator. I walked in and trembled. It felt even chillier indoors than it did out on the porch!

“Over here,” the voice yelled out.

I walked into a cramped sitting space.

Mrs. Higgins rested in a battered armchair, illuminated by a single flame dancing on an end table. She was wrapped in so many quilts that her face appeared ridiculously tiny.

Her gaze fixed entirely upon the food carton I carried.