The Faded River
The rejection letter lay on the kitchen table, the paper thin and yellowing at the edges, smelling faintly of the dry, dusty air that had saturated the valley for weeks. I stared at the bold red stamp, DENIED, and felt the familiar weight settle in my chest, a physical pressure that made it hard to breathe. My left hand, the one that had served me for thirty-four years, lay flat on the wood,...
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