You shared your birthday with your great-auntie, your grandad’s older sister.
Their mother had died before he had the chance to get to know her, and so his sister was like a mother to him.
You were sitting on the coal shed, with your back against the kitchen window, happily playing with your toys, when your grandad came outside.
He hadn’t seen you, but when he did he turned away and took a shaky inhale.
Your great-auntie died that day.
“There’re few things worse than seeing a grown man cry,” you remember your nan saying.
You knew what she meant.
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