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with your mother?”
“No,” I said.
My father looked annoyed. “Laura.”
“If this is about him, he can hear it.”
“It is not about him.”
Caleb looked up then.
A small, sad smile crossed his face.
“Grandpa,” he said quietly, “it’s always not about me.”
My father blinked.
“What?”
Caleb’s voice stayed calm. “When Grandma forgot my birthday, it wasn’t about me. When you continue reading …
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