SB
She was happy in her marriage, although her husband was a devil himself. For three years she's been receiving letters from a stranger. Every afternoon, when her husband returns home tired from work, he goes and glances at her. She says nothing because he knows everything, because he's the one who writes her verses. He's her lover, her secret love. She knows nothing.
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@Pescado_conSalThe morning light filtered through the thin curtains of the kitchen, casting pale stripes across the worn wooden table. A kettle whistled softly on the stove, steam curling toward the ceiling.
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