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Miriam’s shoulders relaxed, the storm inside her beginning to subside. “Maybe I’ve been holding onto Missax too tightly,” she whispered, the nickname now sounding less like a curse and more like a confession. The next morning, Helena and Miriam walked together to the lake where the photograph had been taken. The water was calm, reflecting the pale sunrise. Miriam placed a hand on Helena’s shoulder, the weight of years of unspoken jealousy finally lifting.