The Distant Affair
It was not the silence that broke the morning, but the sound of the oak tree, standing sentinel by the window, its leaves rustling with a persistence that felt less like wind and more like a slow, deliberate breathing. I sat in my study, a room that smelled of old paper and the faint, metallic tang of cold tea, and I listened to the tree, for it was the only thing in this house that had not yet...
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