The Wistful Witness
The count was precise: four hundred and twelve shillings owed to Vane & Sons, a sum that weighed on the ledger like a stone in a pocket, grinding against the fabric of my daily life. I had been counting the coins in the tin box by the stove for an hour, turning them over with my thumb until the edges wore smooth, trying to make the number shrink to something manageable, something that did not...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews