The Distant Whispers
The envelope in Elias’s hands was thin, the paper cream-colored and brittle at the corners, a physical weight that seemed to pull the air out of the room. He held it against his chest as if it were a living thing, a bird with broken wings, while the silence of his mother’s flat pressed in against his eardrums, a silence so thick it felt like wet clay. She had died in her sleep, the nurse said,...
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