The Distant Promise
The heavy brass key hangs on the hook by the back door, its surface rubbed smooth by decades of anxious fingers, a silent witness to the slow erosion of your patience, a physical manifestation of the promise you have kept for forty years, standing in the drafty hallway of the house that is slowly consuming you, the air thick with the scent of damp plaster and the faint, cloying sweetness of...
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