Marriage Fiction
The Shape of a Marriage
Mairéad Quinn
The ring had been left in the sugar bowl, which was either a kindness or a crime, and Nóra Ríordan could not yet decide which. She found it at six nineteen on a Tuesday morning while the house still wore its night sounds: the boiler muttering behind the press, the old stair settling its bones, the sea beyond the harbour wall breathing in the dark like someone trying not to cry.
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