After years of distance, I cared for my sick father in his final weeks—not for inheritance, but because I couldn’t let him die alone. When he passed, I was left out of his will; everything went to my half-sister.
A few days later, a box arrived at my door. Inside were letters he had written for every day we spent together, sharing his regrets, his relief, and his gratitude. Beneath them was a key and some hidden belongings he wanted only me to have.
He wrote, “I didn’t earn your kindness, but you gave it anyway. I needed you to know I saw that.”
I hadn’t changed the past—but somehow, he had changed the ending.
