The Distant Joke

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2026-08-23 00:41:02 -

The Distant Joke

The hallway smelled of wet plaster and old iron. I pressed my forehead against the cold tile, listening to the building breathe. It was a deep, rhythmic wheeze, like a lung filling with fluid. My mother, Margaret, lay in Room 304, her chest rising and falling in a shallow, rattling cadence that matched the groan of the pipes. I had worked the night shift for six years at St. Jude’s, and I knew...

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