“You gave me my life back,” he said softly. “Let me give you something in return.”
The calls started exploding…
angry, threatening, and vicious. His son showed up at my apartment one evening, pounding on the door.
“You manipulated him!” he screamed when I opened it. “You took advantage of a sick old man!”
“I took care of him,” I said calmly.
“Something you couldn’t be bothered to do.”
“He’s MY father! That money is OURS!”
The son’s face twisted with rage, but he had no answer. He just turned and stormed off, threatening lawyers and lawsuits that never materialized.
Henry, surprisingly calm through all of it, wrote them one final letter.
He showed it to me before he mailed it.
Neither of them ever did.
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