The Wistful Campus

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2026-08-19 16:15:46 -

The train cut through the fog like a knife through wet wool. It was a grey morning, the kind that settles into the bones before you even leave the platform. I sat by the window, watching the fields blur into a smear of brown and green. My father sat opposite me. He did not look at me. He looked at his hands, which were folded on his knee, white-knuckled and still. We were going to St. Jude’s....

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