I used to believe our family belonged in one of those glossy holiday commercials—the kind where everything glows a little warmer than real life. Maybe that’s still true. Hayden still leaves handwritten notes tucked into my coffee mug even after twelve years of marriage, and our daughter Mya has a way of asking questions that stop you mid-thought and remind you why the world isn’t beyond saving. Every December, I throw myself into making Christmas feel magical for her, not because she demands it, but because she notices everything. When she was five, I turned our living room into a…I used to believe our family belonged in one of those glossy holiday commercials—the kind where everything glows a little warmer than real life. Maybe that’s still true. Hayden still leaves handwritten notes tucked into my coffee mug even after twelve years of marriage, and our daughter Mya has a way of asking questions that stop you mid-thought and remind you why the world isn’t beyond saving. Every December, I throw myself into making Christmas feel magical for her, not because she demands it, but because she notices everything.
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