The morning had started like any other in our house—loud, busy, and full of the kind of routine noise that becomes a substitute for peace when a home has been through too much. I was in the kitchen making breakfast for my seven grandchildren, just as I had done for yearsThe smell of pancakes filled the air, and for a brief moment, life felt almost normal. Grace, my youngest granddaughter, had been unusually quiet for days.
At fourteen, she was old enough to ask difficult questions but still young enough to believe answers should make sense. She had been searching for meaning in…

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