Quiet

A woman was killed by her husband in Buchloe last week. She was 33, Turkish, and now the town’s gone silent about it—the papers won’t touch it, like refusing to report it might somehow contain the damage. Her family’s at war underneath. All anyone wants is for it to settle without getting worse.

You can’t un-know that something like that happened in your hometown. You walk past the same houses, the same streets, and somewhere here a man murdered his wife. Everything’s exactly the same as it was a week ago, except nothing is.