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On a warm afternoon in rural Virginia, Penny stood in the middle of a half-renovated storefront surrounded by paint cans, old furniture waiting to be refinished, and the kind of supportive chaos only family can create.
Someone was sanding a table in the corner. Someone else was painting trim with “oops paint.” Penny wasn’t painting that day. She can’t always lift her arms or stand long enough. But she was there, directing, encouraging, watching something new take shape.
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