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The first time I met his family, I walked into his parents’ house and thought, Oh. This is what normal looks like.
His mom was polished and charming, gliding around the kitchen like it was a stage she owned. His dad was quiet but kind, offering me a drink and asking if I was warm enough.
Jokes yelling across the table. Kids screaming. Someone dropping a fork every five minutes.
It felt like one of those messy, happy sitcom families.
Andrew’s mom took both my hands and squeezed.
“Finally,” she said, smiling at me like I was a long-lost daughter. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
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