The photograph on the wall began to enlarge overnight. At first, Marla thought it was a trick of light—the seaside scene simply stretching with the dawn. But by morning, the frame had expanded beyond its hooks, spilling salt air into the living room. Waves lapped over the rug, gulls crying from somewhere inside the walls. Her husband’s laughter echoed faintly from the deep blue horizon—the same laugh she hadn’t heard since his boat disappeared. Marla stepped closer, toes sinking into wet sand, and smiled. “Finally,” she whispered, as the photograph widened one last time to let her through.

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