The Wistful Petal
The glass on the windowpane was cracked, a spiderweb of fractures that caught the low, gray light of the afternoon and scattered it into useless, jagged shards across the floorboards. "You did this," I said, my voice sounding thin and hollow in the drafty room, as if I were speaking to someone in the next county rather than the man standing three feet away in my father’s study. "You broke it....
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