Lily used to burst through our front door like she was running toward Christmas morning. She never knocked properly. The door would swing open with a bang against the stopper, her small sneakers squeaking against the hardwood as she sprinted down the hallway. “GRANDPA!” she would shout, her voice echoing through the house. Jim always pretended to brace himself for impact, widening his stance like a football player about to be tackled. A second later she would launch into him, arms tight…
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