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.
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