The Distant Legend
The ink was still wet on the ledger when Margaret sat down at the kitchen table. The house was quiet. Too quiet. It was that heavy, suspended silence that follows a storm, the kind that settles in the lungs and makes every breath feel like a labor. She looked at the page. The numbers were there. Clean. Precise. They did not lie. They never did. But the story they told was a lie of omission, a...
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