PREVIEW
... "She thinks I’m asleep, but I hear her through the walls. Sometimes she cries, too."
My chest ached.
I knew this feeling. Knew it in my bones. The helpless knowledge of a child who understood too much, who saw the cracks in the foundation that adults tried so desperately to hide. The kind of understanding that didn’t come with toys or bedtime stories—it came with late-night whispers and bills left open on the kitchen table.
I’d been that child once. Lying ...
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