The Faded Portrait
The email from Mr. Sterling arrived at 6:14 AM on a Tuesday, its subject line a blunt instrument of dismissal that read, simply, "Non-Viable," and it sat there in my inbox, glowing with a cold, white light that felt less like digital information and more like a verdict handed down by a court I had never entered, a court where I was both the defendant and the executioner of the very thing I was...
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