The screen went black.
I sat there crying, grieving the father I’d lost and the relationship we’d never repaired.
Then I remembered his final instruction.
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“Open the drawer beneath the mixing desk.”
Inside was a wooden box filled with sixty envelopes, each marked with a month and year.
I opened the first. Inside were three bills totaling $250.
Every envelope contained the same amount.
All the rent I’d paid over five years: $15,000.