Don’t see my daughter much after wife’s death, but we talk every day. On my 80th, I wanted nothing but to see her, so I drove over. She looks nervous, asks, “Dad, what are you here for?” I say, “Just wanted to be with you for my birthday.” Told her I’d wait on the sofa, but she’s insistent I leave right away. Never treated me like that. So as I’m leaving, I hear noises, take a glance through the window, and there they are — two… …young men in tool belts, whispering as they arranged decorations around her living room....
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