It was a December afternoon, the kind where the sunlight felt borrowed, pale, and fleeting, and the wind whispered through bare branches like it carried secrets meant only for those who listened carefully. I had been poking through the attic for an hour, attempting to locate boxes of ornaments I was sure I’d stored there last year—or maybe five years ago; time seemed to merge in the dim light. Dust clung to my clothes and tickled my nose with every step I took, and the narrow beams of sunlight that sneaked through… CONTINUE READING…
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