LioraI close my eyes, exhausted. There we are. Always coming back to "that night." The gaping black hole in our family history, the founding event of our downfall. Élianor's disappearance. We all contributed to digging that hole. Me, through my active jealousy, my calculated indifference. My parents, through their complicit silence, their obvious preference, their poorly concealed relief when she left. We pushed stones of humiliation, contempt, and cowardice into it. And now, the hole has widened, and it's sucking us in—us, our belongings, our health, our last breath.—She didn't come back to forgive us, Mom. She came back to settle scores. With us. With the whole town. With every look, every laugh, every word that hurt her.—Then let her come! Let her show herself! Let her say it to our faces! This charade of envelopes delivered like threatening letters, of long-distance threats, of icy phone calls… it's cowardly!
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