Whose Hand Wrote It?

The postcard arrived like a lifeline. For seven days, the silence had teeth, gnawing at every corner of the house, every unanswered message, every minute that didn’t ring. Then that bright, ordinary card slipped through the mail slot, humming with impossible timing and familiar ink. It promised exactly what I needed: two more days of not knowing, of not breaking, of not yet facing whatev… Continues…

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