The letter sat under the edge of the sugar bowl because Mara did not know where else to put it. She had read it twice before sunrise, once with her glasses on and once without them, as though the words might blur into something kinder if she stopped trying so hard to see. They did not change. The mortgage company wanted what she did not have, and the house on the west side of Surprise, Arizona, the house her husband had painted in the evenings a…
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