The Wistful Dinner

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 20:54:41 -

The soup was cold. Not the cold of a refrigerator, but the dead, metallic chill of something that had waited too long for a guest who never arrived. I held the bowl in my hands, the ceramic warm against my palms, and watched the oil separate from the broth in a slow, iridescent ring. "Is it always this quiet?" I asked. Margaret did not look up from her book. She sat in the high-backed chair by...

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