The sun had barely risen over the small suburban neighborhood, casting a muted light over the neatly trimmed lawns and weathered fences. Inside a modest, cozy home adorned with photographs of smiling children and grandchildren, Clara sat in her favorite armchair. The scent of lavender lingered in the room from a half-burnt candle on the mantelpiece. Her hands, fragile but steady, rested on the worn leather-bound photo album in her lap. The pages told the story of a life shared—a life now gone.

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