I hid in the shadows that the building cast across the street, my hand hovering over my stomach protectively, my head looking down at the beaten down cobbles that lined the street.
A teardrop of sweat ran down my brow and I reached to brush it away, before realising that nobody could notice that I was here. Hand darting back down to my stomach, I gathered myself to walk again; my brain flooded with thoughts about where we would stay now and how I would provide for my baby.
I hurried along the darkened alley, praying that I wouldn't be met with men stumbling back from the flash house. My feet slipped off the damp stones that paved the road once so full of life, now lit by a single street lamp, illuminating rusty letters above a shop window spelling the word 'POLLOCK.'
Chipping off some dry dirt caked on to my hands, I reached for any coins I could find on my person. Barely enough for a week's stay in an inn, let alone a lifetime.
These back streets in Brumley were unfortunately all too familiar to me, and I was aware of an old tavern a few streets away which I headed towards.
The sight of the inn was unwelcoming and grimy and the thought of living there shot a poisoned dagger into my future, if there was one. My bottom lip began to tremble as if I was seven years old again and mother looked down at me, her eyes softening to see me crying. 'You're strong my little flower, be brave, don't cry darlin'.' I would always gather myself with those words, and I would again many years later, standing outside that inn, with barely any money and an unborn child to care for.