When I was five, my Nana gave me her bone china tea set. It was delicate, hand-painted, and passed down from her own mother. She made the moment special: sunlight in the room, lemon cookies on the table, her kneeling to tell me, “One day, you’ll understand why this matters.”For years, I treasured it. Every tea party felt like a connection to her love. It came to me officially in her will, addressed:“To Milly, the girl who made tea time magic.”Then one day, it was gone.At first, I thought I’d misplaced it. I searched everywhere—cupboards, closets, even the attic—but found nothing. My husband Gregory shrugged, saying maybe I’d forgotten where I put it. He even bought a cheap replacement, which only made me feel worse.
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