The next morning, as the staff prepared to move the body, Elena stood by the window. The first light of dawn spread over the city, painting the sky in soft shades of gold. She did not weep. She did not smile. She simply breathed.
From her handbag, she took a small notebook and wrote a single line:
She tucked the paper away and walked toward the exit. The morning air was crisp, the city alive with its usual noise. For the first time in twelve years, the weight lifted from her chest. What she felt wasn’t triumph or sorrow. It was freedom.
What Elena’s Story Teaches Us
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