The knife made no sound, but the world did. It tilted, sharp and sudden, as the envelope split the way our wedding invitations once had, the same practiced motion now opening something I had never meant anyone to see. Margaret’s dogwood engraving winked up from the counter, innocent as the day we chose it, while the pages inside unfurled a record of theft written in my own name. Each line was a thin, precise incision, and by the time I reached the third page and Birw… Continues…
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