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... p> Lysander sat back on the couch, giggling like someone had just told him Santa was real and paid taxes. "I’m... a big brother," he whispered like a dreamer on a sugar high. "I am a big brother. I’m a big brother."
Good for you, Sir Redhair Enthusiasm.
Me?
I was reclining like a mini monarch with a grape in each cheek, munching with the elegance of someone who had once filed quarterly taxes and survived Karen from HR. Life was good.
Until it wasn’t.
Becau ...
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