The Faded Photograph
The air in the dining room was thick, not with smoke, but with the suspended dust of a century that refused to end, swirling in the amber light of the chandelier like a swarm of golden gnats. I sat at the head of the long mahogany table, my spine rigid against the high-backed chair, watching my daughter, Elena, move from guest to guest with the practiced grace of a woman who had learned to...
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