The Wistful Petal
The cafeteria smelled of wet cardboard and burnt coffee. It was a smell that had seeped into the fibers of Margaret’s blazer over the last five years. She sat at the long table, her hands folded around a styrofoam cup that had gone cold. Around her, the noise of the merger was a low, constant hum. Chairs scraped. Voices overlapped in a chorus of anxiety and false confidence. Everyone was...
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