The Cost of Displacement

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2026-05-01 17:05:45 -

The easel floated on the Seine like a broken thought, its canvas still damp with river water and the last of Claude s paint. I stood on the bank in the cold Paris night, my hands empty, my heart a hollow thing. They would find him in the morning—the body, the tragedy, the champagne bottles still sitting on his table. But I knew the truth. Claude had not jumped because he was broken. He had...

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