The Golden Farce
The notice of final payment lay on the scarred oak table, the paper yellowed at the edges, the ink faded to a ghostly gray. I traced the line with a finger that had spent the last eight hours scrubbing grout from the bathroom tiles, my knuckles raw and white. Three hundred and fifty dollars. That was all that remained of the debt my sister Clara left behind, the hospital bills piling up like...
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