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…”

You played the guitar before!

His expression changed.

That was a long time ago.

Perhaps if you had followed your dreams, you would understand mine!

He stared at me for several seconds.

Then he closed the door in silence.

Since that night, we barely spoke again.

At the age of twenty-three, I was still living at home, still paying rent and still dreaming of leaving.

Then Dad got seriously ill.

Even in the hospital he refused to talk about his feelings.

Our last conversation was about a drip kitchen tap.

Three days later, he died.View telescopes

At the funeral, I stood next to his coffin feeling something he could not explain.

I had spent years wanting to escape from him.

And now I would never hear his voice again.

That night, someone knocked on my door.

It was Frank, Dad’s oldest friend.

He had a cardboard box.