The Golden Myth
The eviction notice lay on the kitchen table, its red ink bleeding slightly into the grain of the wood like a fresh wound. I held the pen, my hand trembling not from cold, but from the sheer, mechanical weight of the debt listed in the margin: four hundred pounds, a sum that had grown in the ledger of Vane’s Mill like a tumor fed on interest and silence. My mother’s house, the one place in...
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