The Distant Garden
The Tuesday morning light falls through the high, grimy windows of St. Jude’s Orphanage, illuminating dust motes that dance in the stagnant air like suspended ash, and you stand in the center of the main hall, holding a trowel that feels heavier than it should, your knuckles white against the wooden handle, waiting for the demolition crew to arrive on Friday but deciding, with a stubbornness...
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