The kitchen was sleek, professionally designed, bespoke, with granite counters, stainless steel appliances. It was very spotless, and expertly scrubbed, well equipped, utensils on hooks, matching cups uncluttered, clean folded tea towel, gentle swish from the dishwasher, and an efficient hum of refrigerator. Dried flowers hung from beams with a professional knife block, nothing superfluous, minimalistic. Susanna's eyes drip with tears as she washed the dishes. Her walls, the walls that hold her up, which makes her strong just... collapse. Moment by moment, they fall. Salty drops fall from her chin, drenching her shirt. Perhaps these tears will help wash the pain out. She pressed my head against the wall. She was trembling. She could not stop. Even as she press her hand on the plates it shakes, it trembles. It's raw, everything, raw tears, raw emotions. She couldn't stop... She just could not stop. Why can she not stop crying?All her life she
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