The Wistful Cipher
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, gray curtain that turned the streets of the city into a slurry of mud and broken light. You were standing on the corner of Fifth and Main, holding your umbrella, watching the taxi pull away with your wife, Sarah, still inside. She had not looked out the window. She had not even said goodbye. She had simply packed her bag, looked at you with a...
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