The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-19 10:19:15 -

The fog rolled in from the harbor, thick and gray, swallowing the pier whole. I watched my son, Julian, step onto the iron grating. He was twenty-two, sharp-featured, with my jaw and my father’s eyes. He adjusted the strap of his rifle case. It looked heavy. Too heavy for a boy who still needed me to tie his shoes. "Be safe," I said. My voice sounded foreign in my mouth. Dry. Cracked. Julian...

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