The Pale Letter
The brick fell through the window glass with a sound like a bone snapping in a quiet room, and before the shards could fully settle into the wet plaster, I knew that the silence I had been guarding for six years was finally, irrevocably broken. We were standing in the kitchen of the house on 4th Street, the one with the peeling yellow paint and the smell of damp wood that clung to your clothes...
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