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When My Key Wouldn’t Fit the Lock, I Knew Something Had Changed

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hours of Athena’s filing. I stood on that same porch and used a new key and heard the lock turn and walked inside.

The carnations Mike had bought were still on the kitchen counter, plastic sleeve still on them, long dead, petals starting to dry at the edges. I threw them away and opened the windows and let the spring air into the house.

Some nights I continue reading …

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