It’s past midnight in a modest apartment on the fourth floor. The hallway light flickers a soft amber, and a gentle hum of the city drifts in through the cracked window. Inside the bedroom, the air is still, punctuated only by the rhythmic rise and fall of a sleeping figure—Mom. Her head rests on a pillow embroidered with faded flowers, her breathing slow and steady like a lullaby that has been hummed for years.
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