Rain pounded relentlessly on the narrow streets of Fairfield, Connecticut, turning the world outside into a blur of gray and shadow. Inside a modest brick home on Hawthorne Lane, Agatha Monroe, an eighty-year-old widow, sat alone by the window, her hands folded in her lap. The rhythmic ticking of the old wall clock echoed through the silent living room, a sound that had kept her company ever since her husband passed in the Korean War and her only son, Graham, di:ed in a car accident seven years ago.
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