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He was never around and that bothered her greatly. She would always wait up for him, hoping he would return to her. And then, one day, he did return. In a casket.

She was much slower after that. Piles of mail littered her doorway as laundry was just as scattered throughout the house. No mention of new loves, only day in, day out monotony.

When she could take no more, she stayed up late and wrote out a letter to her only family member, her aging father.

He wasn’t much, but it was all she had. She was very particular about how much effort she put into it, just enough detail to elongate his pain when he would receive it.

Silent as the night, her suffering was no more.

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