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192 the widows’ handbook No Answer, No Message Charlotte Cox One of the hidden benefits you get, losing your oldest pal, your lifelong chum, is that now, at long last, at very least, you have no one to answer to— no mother peering into your school bag, no father waiting up with furrowed scowl, no spouse with probing pauses, sullen snits, no kids with needs or wants or crazy fits— really no one to question what you said or meant, where you were, or what you did or didn’t do, what you were thinking, or not thinking, how long you’ll be, why you were short. There’s no call, no push, no pressing need to answer all those pointless questions— just the tangled darkness of your own thoughts, the blinding light of truth inside your dreams. In time you see there’s no time left, no chance, to answer what was once called for so urgently— why you looked, why you didn’t look, why you cared, why you didn’t care. In truth, you don’t care anymore because there’s all the time left in the world, no one to answer to, no one to call, no question, no answer, no more. ...

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