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That evening, I found myself back at the kitchen table, the same spot where it all unraveled. The house was quiet, save for the soft ticking of the clock, a reminder of time slipping away.
“I wish things were simpler,” I said to no one in particular.
The echoes of past conversations lingered in the room, each word a ghost of what once was.
“We always thought we’d have more time,” she had once said.
Now, the weight of those words felt heavier than ever.
In the solitude, I began to see the outlines of a new path, uncertain yet hopeful, waiting to be forged.
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“I have to find a way,” I whispered to the empty room.
And in that moment, I knew that the journey ahead would define everything that came next.
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