Then she saw the tickets.
The joy that filled the room was bright and unfiltered. She laughed and cried at the same time, throwing her arms around Hayden and then me, barely able to stand still. But what stayed with me wasn’t the excitement. It was the quiet certainty that settled in my chest.
I had spent years trying to manufacture magic—decorations, traditions, perfect moments. But the real magic had been there all along, growing quietly in our home.
It lived in our daughter’s kindness. Her imagination. Her instinct to care for someone else, even someone she’d never met. She hadn’t thought about rewards or recognition. She had simply seen a need and responded with warmth.
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