The Golden Crossing
The envelope lay on the kitchen table, the paper thick and cream-colored, smelling faintly of the lavender sachet Elias kept in his drawer. It was a bill. Not for utilities, but for the divorce. The ink was still wet, a deep, viscous black that seemed to pull at the light in the room. Elias sat in the chair opposite, his fingers hovering over the signature line. He did not sign it. He traced...
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