The Wistful Witness
The demolition notice arrived on a Tuesday, tucked between a water bill and a coupon for laundry detergent. Elena Vance did not open it immediately. She placed it on the kitchen counter, next to the cold coffee and the stack of index cards detailing the provenance of the parlor chairs. The house, a Victorian monstrosity of rotting oak and peeling plaster, groaned in the wind outside. It had...
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