The Distant Summer
The truck that brought Clara to Blackwood Estate smelled of diesel and old wet wool, a scent that clung to her clothes as she stepped out into the grey October morning of 1994, where the air itself seemed to hum with a low, vibrating silence that made her teeth ache. She was thirty years old, a woman who had spent the last decade trying to feed people who had nothing to give, and now she stood...
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