“Hey… Dad. It’s me.

I don’t know if this number still works, or if you even check your messages anymore, but…I’m leaving this just in case.

It’s…been a long time. I’ve started and erased this call more times than I can count. But I guess I need to say this, finally. Out loud.

After Mom died, everything fell apart.

I know she was your whole world. She was mine too. But the way you changed after…

I was a kid. I didn’t understand grief—

not like that.

I just knew that the man who used to tuck me in at night suddenly only spoke in shouts and slammed doors.

And when the hitting started…

I didn’t know what to do except run.

So I did. I ran, and I never looked back.

Until now.

I’m not that kid anymore. I’ve got a son now—he just turned seven last week. He’s got her smile. My wife says he has my stubbornness.

And I work at a hardware store out here—simple job, nothing fancy, but it keeps the lights on and my hands busy.

And still, some nights, I think about the house. About you…

about what we lost.

I’m gonna be passing through town soon. I don’t want to reopen wounds if you’re not ready. But if you are—if you want to see me—

just put a white piece of paper on the front door.

That’s it.

I’ll see it. I’ll know.

If it’s not there, I’ll understand.

I will.

No resentment, no anger. I just…

needed to try. For my son. For me. For us.

And for mom.

I’ll be there in about an hour or two.

I hope you’re still there.

I hope you’re back to being you.

I love you, dad.”