For more than twenty years, the woman on the eighth floor was nothing but a shadow in our apartment building. She didn’t smile. She didn’t greet people in the hallway. She moved like someone carrying a lifetime of weight, head down, shoulders stiff, eyes avoiding the world. To us, she was simply “the quiet lady upstairs.” Not rude. Not unfriendly. Just unreachable.For more than twenty years, the woman on the eighth floor was little more than a shadow in our apartment building. She never smiled, never made small talk, never acknowledged anyone beyond a slight nod. She moved through the halls like someone carrying a lifetime of burdens—head down, shoulders tense, eyes fixed anywhere but on another person. …….CONTINUE READING IN BELOW
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