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You can't keep saying things like that

The night had settled quietly over the city, the kind of darkness that felt like a soft, velvet blanket, cocooning the world in calm.

Inside my home, the evening had wound down. Dinner had been a simple affair, the kind of meal shared with warmth and care between my mother and me, devoid of interruptions or surprises. By the time the domestic workers had finished their rounds and left for the night, the house finally exhaled. Every footstep, every closing door, felt like a signal that the ...

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