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... My mother had been cleaning for hours, sweeping, mopping, dusting, and polishing every surface she could find, as if the entire house could sparkle with enough effort. The curtains had been washed and ironed, the windows gleamed, and even the smallest details, like the arrangement of pillows on the couch, had been carefully considered. The scent of fresh flowers mixed with the lingering aroma of my mother’s cooking, filling our home with warmth.

My father sat in the armchair, dressed in ...

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