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When she was five, I turned our living room into a snow globe—cotton batting piled like drifts, twinkle lights tucked into corners, soft music floating through the air. Last year, I organized a neighborhood caroling night and let her stand front and center, belting out “Rudolph” like she was headlining a concert. Afterward, she squeezed my hand and whispered, “This is the best Christmas ever.”
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