The Wistful Letter
October 12, 1998. The letter from St. Jude’s Asylum sits on the counter, the ink smeared where my thumb has rubbed it. It is a termination notice, though it calls it a "reassignment to administrative support." My hands shake, not from cold, but from the weight of the brass keys on my belt. I am thirty-two, and I need this job. Thomas is in the ICU, and the bills are stacking up like bricks in a...
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