On top lay a handwritten note.
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“You earned every dollar of this. Don’t waste it the way I wasted my chance.”
I pressed the note against my chest.
For five years, I’d believed Dad was taking my future away, $250 at a time.
But in his stubborn, misguided way, he’d been trying to give it back.
I looked at the dark computer screen and whispered, “Thanks, Dad. I just wish you’d told me while you were still here.”