The Distant Garden
The fire in the study is not burning; it is speaking. You hold the edge of the mahogany desk, the wood warping under the heat, and you hear Thomas’s voice coming from the wallpaper, a low, rhythmic rasp that matches the crackle of the flames. You want to sell this house. You need the money to pay for your sister Clara’s chemotherapy, the bills that stack up on the kitchen table like unpaid...
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