The Wistful Letter

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2026-08-25 09:37:29 -

The bank’s notice had arrived on a Tuesday, and by Thursday, I had counted the hours since my father’s death to the minute, finding forty-three days of silence where his voice used to be. I sat in the study of Blackwood Manor, the air thick with the smell of damp stone and old paper, trying to make sense of the ledger before me. I needed the deed. I needed to prove that my father, Arthur...

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