Inside the box were rows of plain white envelopes, each marked with a month and year in Dad’s blocky handwriting. The first said, “October, first rent.” My hands shook as I opened it and found four hundred dollars in crisp bills—the exact amount I had paid him that month. Another envelope held four hundred more. Then another. Walter stood behind me silently, his eyes red.

Beneath the envelopes were brown leather work boots in my size, still carrying their tags, and a folded letter with my name on it. At the bottom, something was wrapped inside an old blue towel. Walter stopped me before I reached for it. “Read the letter first. He made me promise.” I unfolded the page, and the opening sentence made my entire body go cold: “My son, if you are reading this, then I am no longer here to explain why I made you pay rent.”

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