Dad Charged Me $250 a Month for Five Years, Then Left Me a Secret Recording Studio

I took the receipt home.

That night, I placed it inside the blue notebook beside Dad’s unfinished song.

Then I wrote a date beneath the last page.

And one sentence.

The song is finished, Dad.

I closed the notebook.

For the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was waiting for my father to tell me what to do next.

I had my own decisions to make.