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At sixty-five, her life followed a rhythm so familiar it barely registered anymore. Mornings were slow and predictable. Afternoons belonged to bingo at the local hall, the same faces, the same numbers called out in the same order. It wasn’t a bad life, just a settled one. Nobody expected surprises from her anymore, least of all something as radical as signing up for swimming lessons.
That’s why people noticed immediately when she stopped showing up for bingo.
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