The Echo of Broken Strings
The magnolias at Oakhaven were dying. I could tell from the road, even before I saw the house: the white blossoms turning brown at the edges, dropping to the ground like old lace that had been left in the rain too long. The fence along the drive was leaning, and the iron gate was rusted shut, and the driveway cracked through the middle like a bone that had healed wrong. Tom Callahan's family...
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