The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins
Its fur catches the sunlight in a way that makes me see individual hairs, the way they layer and overlap.
It's watching me with black eyes. Its small round ears swivel independently, and I wonder what it hears, what the world sounds like at that pitch, whether the grass growing makes a sound, whether my heartbeat is loud to those sensitive ears.
"Hi," I whisper.
I extend my hand slowly. My palm up, offering nothing because I have nothing to offer—no food, no nuts, no seeds, just an empty hand. The squirrel takes a step closer. I can see the details of its face—the tiny nose black and twitching, the whiskers long and white, sensing the air, reading the world through vibration and scent, the s
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