The Faded Bouquet
You are standing in the hallway of the house you have lived in for forty years, and the air is thick with the smell of wet wool and old dust. It is a Tuesday evening in November, the kind of heavy, gray day where the light seems to die before it has truly begun. Your daughter, Clara, is in the kitchen, humming a song you do not recognize, her back turned to you as she stirs a pot of soup that...
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