The pounding came again.
Not really knocking.
Performance.
The kind of loud, open-palmed banging designed for neighbors behind curtains and gossip before breakfast.
I stood behind the living room curtain barefoot, still wearing the robe I had tied so tightly around my waist it felt like armor. The coffee I made twenty minutes earlier sat untouched on the kitchen counter, already cold…. Continue Reading ⬇️
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