The Golden Downtown
The kitchen light hummed a low, electric note, a sound that had become the rhythm of my life since the diagnosis. I stood before the counter, the granite cold against my fingertips, watching the steam rise from the pot of soup. It was a simple thing, chicken and carrots, but to me, it was a monument to endurance. My mother sat at the table, her posture rigid, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere...
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