Inside were rows of plain white envelopes packed tightly together, each labeled in Dad’s blocky handwriting with a month and a year. The first one read, “October, first rent.” My hands shook as I pulled it open. Four hundred dollars in crisp bills, the exact amount I had handed him that month. I tore open another, then another. Every single one held the same. Walter stood silently behind me, his eyes red.
Underneath the envelopes lay a pair of brown leather work boots in my size, the tags still attached, and beside them a folded letter with my name on it. Then I noticed something wrapped in an old blue towel at the very bottom. When I reached for it, Walter whispered, “Read the letter first. He made me promise.” I unfolded the page, and the very first line made my whole body go cold.
