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Her voice carried genuine concern. I’d known her for years — she brought cookies on holidays and sometimes helped me carry groceries. I hesitated, but the thought of finally sleeping through one night without fear eased my guilt.
I agreed.
Even Tom told me once, with a faint smile, “She talks to me. Her stories make the nights feel shorter.”
I was relieved. It felt good to know he had company, that someone was helping when I couldn’t.
But everything changed on the fifth night.
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