“This is from your father,” he said softly.
My name was written on the front in my dad’s familiar, steady handwriting. Inside, I found a stack of receipts—rent payments, utility bills, medical invoices—each one bearing my mother’s address. They went back years.
At first, I didn’t understand what I was looking at. Why would my dad keep all this?
Then I found the small handwritten note tucked between the pages.
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