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Today, I caught Ethan drawing pictures of his mom crying. My heart sank. The senator's hosting a dinner party tonight, and I've noticed Laura practicing her smile in mirrors. Something's not right in this house, but I need this job for Maya's sake.

So right now it's 6:30, and my neighbor's kids have been playing basketball since noon. The bouncing never stops, I tell ya. And just like clockwork, they'll be back out there tomorrow doing the same thing.

I found your old sweater today, buried beneath winter coats and forgotten promises. Its threads are unraveling like the memories we once held sacred, each loose string a testimony to how time weathers even our most carefully knitted certainties.

That would be me

Sabem por que sofremos? Porque a vida terrena é uma ilusão. Estamos todos presos neste sonho que chamamos de realidade. O verdadeiro despertar está além daqui. Na terra experimentamos a morte, mas lá em cima, com Deus, encontramos a verdadeira vida.

In the dimly lit study, Amanda stood frozen, her manicured fingers clutching the letter she'd found hidden behind their mother's portrait. The family secrets were unraveling like loose thread, and she watched her brother's face change as realization dawned. Some truths were better left buried.

The boardroom that once echoed with his condescending remarks now sits silent. His precious corner office, stripped bare, tells a different story. Not through my intervention, not through manipulation, but through his own spectacular incompetence. Karma, as they say, needs no invitation.

The silence in the kitchen felt heavy, echoing her own isolation. She could try to focus on the laundry, but the effort seemed monumental. Every ticking second was a cold reminder of the emptiness ahead, a void that no amount of busywork could ever truly fill.