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where cars go.”
I reminded him that it wasn’t a road. It was our lawn.
“Kids cry,” he said dismissively. “They get over it.”
And with that, he walked away.
It didn’t stop.
Nick rebuilt. Mr. Streeter flattened the snowmen again. And again. Some days Nick cried openly. Other days he grew quiet, staring out the window with that tense expression children wear continue reading …
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