The Wistful Letter
Elias stood at the window. The rain tapped against the glass. A rhythmic code. He watched the drop slide down. It left a trail. A ghost of water. The house was cold. The coal fire had died. He did not move. He waited for the sound. The sound that meant she was gone. Or that she was coming. The letter lay on the desk. The ink was dry. It had been there for years. He had written it. He had sent...
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