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We sat at the kitchen table that night, the girls coloring between us, and I said it out loud for the first time.
My husband looked up and smiled.
“A real one,” I said.
For the first time ever, we planned a family trip.
I booked everything myself: flights to Florida, a beachfront hotel, and a small spa package I felt almost guilty clicking “confirm” on.
I even booked kids’ activities with names like Explorer Club and Ocean Day.
I checked the reservation emails more than I needed to. Just to make sure they were real.
I started counting the days like a child.
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