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near the tree, thin and tired, but happy in a way he had not known he was capable of being.
After dinner, Lily, now thirteen, sat beside him.
“Grandpa?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Do you think Grandma knows about the bakery?”
Frank looked at Margaret’s ornament hanging on the tree—a small glass angel she had loved.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I hope so.”
Lily continue reading …
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