On the table beside the papers was another envelope with my name in Dad’s handwriting.
I saw it the moment I walked in earlier that night… but I couldn’t open it yet. I wasn’t ready then, but I was now.
“Chels, if you’re reading this, it means you made it.”
Love, Dad.”
I pressed the note to my chest and looked around the quiet house.
For the first time since Dad died, this house was mine again, and so was my life.
“Chels, if you’re reading this, it means you made it.”
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