His voice trembled.
“I wish I’d been a better father. I wish we’d had more time. But most of all, I wish I’d told you how proud I am of you.”
A tear rolled down his cheek.
“I love you, son. I always have.”
He reached toward the camera.
“Goodbye, buddy.”
The screen went black.
I stood motionless for several seconds before collapsing into a chair, crying harder than I had at his funeral.
Eventually, I remembered his final instruction.
Beneath the mixing desk was a drawer containing a wooden box filled with neatly arranged envelopes. Each one was marked with a month and a year.
I opened the first envelope.
Inside were two hundred-dollar bills and a fifty.
I opened another. The same amount.
Then another.
There were sixty envelopes in total.
Every single $250 payment I’d made over five years.
Fifteen thousand dollars.
Dad had kept every dollar of rent I’d paid him.
