Everything was still.
And yet Daniel felt as if something inside him had shifted violently out of place.
He stared down at the objects resting in the folds of the faded white towel, unable to make his mind accept what his eyes were seeing. His fingers remained curled around the edge of the fabric, but he no longer felt the rough cotton against his skin. He only saw the past.
Eighteen years of questions.
Eighteen years of silence.
Eighteen years hidden beneath a seam.
The towel was no longer just a towel.
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