When I was 18,simo my father started charging me 250 dollars a month for my room. Five years later, after her funeral, her best friend handed me a box and whispered, “Your father wanted you to open it only after her death…”

Every month I accepted my 250 dollars without saying a word of thanks.

I hated him for that.

Sometimes we spent a whole week without talking to each other.

So, five years later, my father died suddenly.

At his funeral I barely spilled a tear. I thought I stopped wanting it many years ago.

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But that night, his best friend, Frank, appeared on my doorstep with a sealed cardboard box.

“Your father made me promise to give you this after his death,” Frank said.

I let out a bitter laugh.

What’s inside? All the rent money he took from me?

Frank’s expression changed.

“Son, before you open that box, there’s something you need to understand about your father.

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I didn’t answer.

I ripped the tape and lifted the lid.

Inside were several envelopes, an ancient photograph of my mother and a handwritten letter.