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I stood on the porch holding my phone, recording everything.
“Come on, June Bug,” my mother called. “Come to Grandma.”
Lily wobbled once.
Marcus whispered, “You’ve got it.”
And then she did.
Three tiny steps.
A tumble into my mother’s arms.
A celebration loud enough to frighten birds from the oak tree.
I watched Marcus wipe his eyes with the heel of his hand continue reading …
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