If the gentle reader wanted to add some dignity to this story, then the gentle reader would want to refer to "filial decisions". But we don't use words like filial. Gossip maybe, but not filial.
Imagine her. Handkerchief on her head arranged like a bandana and it's snowing. Honestly, you shouldn't be paying attention, but you want to because there is some type of story here. The very fact that she's not wearing a jacket and she's smoking and her boyfriend just bought her a rose inside says there's something either sweet or sinister or dramatic. Did I mention she's pregnant? Don't stare. Certainly, it's not something that you or I would do and maybe someone should tell her what that cigarette will do to her unborn child. What is she doing in a bar anyways?
Did anyone see her drinking? Well, she's in a bar and she's smoking and pretty much squatting on the snowy curb with her cheap grey track pants. She is, as you say, rather pretty. It's really too bad. Such a pretty thing.
I saw her smiling early, beaming with that rose. Such a nice couple. He seems older than her but that just added a certain charm. He was relatively well dressed. And had that darker tone. That European look. Yeah, real dark eyes. Might be a model. You'd almost think he would have given her his jacket. Oh, there he is. Maybe that's why he came out, you think?
Don't stare, and, well, no one is else is around, so we honestly can''t help but overhear. They are speaking rather quietly. They don't seem very happy. Would it be rude just to inch closer, pretend to get out of the snow? Stop being cheeky. This looks important.
"Thank you. I look like a monkey.", she exclaims in resigned exasperation.
"Well", he says calmly, and his accent is of eastern european quality, you were right, "squatting like that in the snow, and what are you..."
The look on her face, and yes, we're all staring now, stops him mid sentence as he ashes his cigarette on the slush filled sidewalk.
"We do have options.", he says instead.
Now's a good time to look away. The word option to a pregnant woman holding a rose makes for an awkward situation, now, doesn't it?
"Yes, we do. Perhaps we can retire me into one of those houses where they hid unwed pregnant women behind curtains before your parents find...", out.", she chides in that ridiculous tone frustrated people use.
Good one. She does have some fire in her. Yes, cigarette smoke, good one there too.
"All I'm saying is", he continues this time pleading, conciliatory.
She's standing up, looking at us like she doesn't really care if we're listenning or not and stamps her cigarette into the slush.
He looks at her with a dramatized expression that says nothing is in order and everything is in vain and it must be solved now. She, though, tucks the rose into her handbag and walks back into the pub.
Now it's just him because we really have to get going. Should we stay and see if he follows her? No, that would be rude. Come on. Let's go.