The architecture of human grief is often constructed upon a foundation of silence and the heavy, unyielding stones of unearned guilt. For Regina, this internal monolith had stood for thirty-one years, cast in the flickering shadows of the freezing morning of December 14th when her childhood home was consumed by a catastrophic fire. She had spent more than three decades laboring under the devastating belief that her twin brother, Daniel, had perished because of her own momentary hesitation. In the recurring nightmare of her memory, she was the girl frozen in the smoke-choked hallway, her lungs searing, while Daniel—the natural...
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