The front door shakes. It may be the wind, I lie to myself, but I can see a shadow through the small opaque glass. Whoever is on the porch may think that nobody is at home, I think. My feet freeze in the middle of the hall. I don’t care that a cough makes my throat swell. I press it back in my chest and endure the pain. The shadow grows. A smell of rotten fish escapes from under the door and I need air, fresh air.