The letter arrived on a Tuesday, which was already wrong. Letters did not arrive on Tuesdays.
This letter was on thick cream paper, the kind that cost more than it should. It contained three words: "Your husband is dead." No signature. No explanation. Just those three words, typed in a font that looked like it belonged to a typewriter from another decade. Eleanor March read the letter once, set it down, poured herself a second cup of coffee, and read it again. Same three words. Same...
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