The Faded Guest
The parchment lay on the table, its edges curling like dry leaves, the ink of the magistrate’s seal still dark and wet against the pale skin of the paper. It was a bill of sale, not for land or livestock, but for a man, and the sum written at the bottom was a number that made the air in our small kitchen feel suddenly thin. My father, Thomas, sat with his hands resting on his knees, fingers raw...
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