The Void of Grace
The apartment in Tribeca was a cathedral of white on white. Everything was curated: the Eames chairs, the oversized Monstera plants, the silence that seemed to vibrate with a high-frequency tension. Sylvia sat on the white linen sofa, her posture a study in effortless poise. She was a woman of immense wealth and an even more immense capacity for stillness. June, her daughter-in-law, lived in a...
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