The Faded Photograph
The gala at the St. Jude’s Foundation was a symphony of clinking crystal and forced laughter, a cacophony that Mara Vance had spent the last decade learning to filter out. She stood near the marble column, her back straight, her smile fixed in place like a porcelain mask glued to flesh. The room was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and older wine, a sensory overload that made the edges...
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