The metal bed frame is cold, pressing into the tops of my thighs. I sit shoulders slumped, one hand curled on my lap, the other holding two sheets of pastel mint writing paper. The letter flutters in my trembling fingers, but it doesn’t matter. The only light, from a bedside lamp, exudes a mustard glow casting the room into a dim burrow with corners shadowed. The faint smell of polished leather, starch, and fuel permeates the air. My eyes blur, and the words on the page dance in enigmatic hieroglyphics. All I can read is her name. He stands shoulders braced, face turned away, looking out the darkened window. Anguish stirs softly in my belly as his words roll across me in rumbling waves of distant thunder.


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