That was my father.

Even his love was built like a bridge, to carry weight, to last, to hold.”

Chapter 17 — The Letter

Then Mr.

Vance reached into his coat and drew out one last thing, an envelope of heavy cream-colored paper, sealed with a drop of wax, and he placed it in my hands with a kind of ceremony.

“He wrote this for you,” he said.

“He wanted it to be the last thing.