The Wistful Dinner
The fog in Oakhaven did not roll in; it sat, heavy and wet, like a shroud draped over the shoulders of the town. Elias, a clerk of forty-two years, stood before the glass of Mr. Vane’s pawn shop, his breath misting the pane until the world beyond blurred into grey smudges. He wanted the silver brooch. It was Martha’s, worn by her for thirty years until her death, and now it sat in a velvet box...
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