When Anna mentioned her high school reunion, I barely looked up from my phone. She stood at the kitchen counter, twisting her hair into that familiar knot she makes when something matters more than she wants to admit. The house was noisy behind her—kids arguing, a missing shoe, the baby banging a spoon like it was a drum. It was our everyday chaos, the kind that fills every corner of life. “They’re having a ten-year reunion next month,” she said. “I was thinking about going.” I gave a small laugh and asked why she would need to attend. Without thinking,...
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