A father’s world
Her voice trembled, carrying pride and sorrow in equal measure. “He poured himself into this place, building walls inside walls. To him, it wasn’t just shelter — it was imagination made solid. Every corner reflected his hands, his stubbornness, his love.” Rosemary paused, her gaze sweeping the tiny room. “I used to sit and watch him work. To me, this house was magical. To him, it was freedom.”
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