The Three Rivers Branch Library, located in Visalia, California, was modest—two rooms, beige walls, and shelves that smelled of sun-warmed paperbacks. It stood quietly near the Kaweah River, more a gathering place than a building, more heart than institution. Yet in early spring, rumors spread like wildfire through the town: the county was considering closing it down. For many in Three Rivers, this was unthinkable. The library wasn't just about books. It was where children learned to dream, where retirees found company, and where hikers stopped by for maps and stories before heading up to the groves of Sequoia National Park. So, the townsfolk called a meeting. They packed into the multipurpose room—farmers with dusty boots, artists with paint on their sleeves, shopkeepers, and children still clutching backpacks. The library manager, a thoughtful man named Mr. Alvarez, scribbled notes as the room buzzed with ideas. "Bake sales." "A fundraising gala." "Part...
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