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I’m a 65-year-old janitor who thought his daughter had quietly outgrown him. Nearly a year after telling me she was pregnant, she turned up at my door in tears, holding a baby carrier.
I’m a 65-year-old man, I work as a janitor, and I live alone.
I come home from cleaning office bathrooms and emptying trash cans, drop my keys on the counter, kick my boots off by the mat, and dump my mop bucket in the sink.
Then I heat whatever’s in the freezer and fall asleep in my chair with the TV talking to no one.
That night started the same.
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