People whose approval could arrive forty minutes late and still expect you to be grateful.
I don’t believe that anymore. Blood matters. History matters. But neither excuses absence. Family is also the person who drives forty minutes to repair a hinge you never asked him to notice. It is the friend who rearranges a seating chart without turning your pain into gossip. It is the neighbor who protects a twelve-sentence recording for eleven years because your grandmother made her promise. It is the man waiting at the end of the
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