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Weekly Contest #367
At nine o’clock on Saturday morning, the day still belonged to her. It stretched ahead, clean and generous, filled with the quiet promise that Saturdays carried before anything had happened to them. Sunlight entered the kitchen through the half-open blinds and drew pale golden lines across the table. The window was open just enough to let in the cool morning air, along with the distant sound of a bicycle bell and someone dragging a wheeled suitcase over the pavement. She wrapped both hands around her coffee cup and breathed in the deep, roas...
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