The Distant Summer

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2026-08-18 22:39:31 -

The rain had stopped, but the air in the hallway still tasted of wet wool and old wood. I stood by the door, holding the hem of my dress, watching the water drip from the eaves in a steady, rhythmic line. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; time had become a fluid thing in our house, stretching and compressing like taffy. I was waiting for him to come down. He always came down late, but...

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