
The Listening Circle
At a nonprofit counseling center in St. Paul, grief-group facilitator Eulalia Price protects a small circle of people who trust the room with what they cannot say anywhere else. Then a participant is confronted by a stranger using a private phrase that should never have left the center.
As more residents receive carefully aimed pressure to sell their homes during a zoning fight, Eulalia follows a paper trail through altered intake forms, room calendars, sign-in initials, and donor records. The evidence points not to a technical breach but to an institutional betrayal: private pain has been turned into leverage.
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The Wrong Name
Eulalia set the seventh chair back into the circle and stepped away from it. The room always looked accusatory before people arrived. Seven blue vinyl chairs, seven places for a body to make a private sorrow visible. She moved the chair half an inch inward until the distance between each seat was nearly even.
On the side table, the electric kettle clicked off. She poured water into the squat brown teapot, dropped in the bags, and watched their paper tags darken at the edges. The lamps were on though it was still light outside. Their shades made small pools of yellow against the old brick walls and kept the fluorescent ceiling panels from owning the room.
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