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Chapter 102: Wheelchair
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... > Usually by now, Miss Stella would be humming some old Italian tune while barking orders at anyone who dared touch her counters.
Pots would have been clanging, knives chopping, the smell of veggies thick in the air. But this morning... nothing.
Just the light dripping of water from the faucet and the low sound of the fridge. I wiped down the counter for the third time, though it was already spotless.
My hands needed something to do — anything to distract from the silence ...
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