Riley was jumping and clapping and dancing in the middle of the garage, and I pushed off from the garage door to meet her on her makeshift dance floor. She squealed when I grabbed her hand and gave her a twirl. Her delighted giggle was the only thing that sounded better than the music Teddy and Hank were playing. As my daughter and I danced together, I knew this moment would be one of those memories that I thought back on at every big moment in her life—when she got her driver’s license, graduated from high school, college—when she got married, if that’s what she wanted. I’d put it in the same
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