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The knock came at 10:47 p.m.
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Talia ignored it.
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A second knock followed. Then a raspy voice:
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“Talia. I brought you soup. You haven’t opened your blinds in four days. I’m old, not blind.”
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She sighed and cracked the door.
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Mrs. Kaine stood there, wrapped in a faded purple shawl and holding a steaming container.
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“You can keep pretending nothing’s wrong. But it’s exhausting, isn’t it?”
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Talia took the soup without a word.
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“Pain needs to be seen,” the old woman added. “Even if it’s ugly.”
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Talia stared at her.
“How do you know I’m not just tired?”
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“Because I’ve been tired,” Mrs. Kaine replied. “This is something else. You’re carrying a silence big enough to drown in.”
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That night, Talia cried over soup.
For once, she didn’t wipe the tears away.
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