I Got Home From the Oil Rig Two Weeks Early and Found My Eight-Year-Old Son Cooking Dinner for Strangers—The Messages He Never Sent Explained Everything.

There were twenty-six entries.

Every one of them was written to me.

Not one had ever been sent.

Because that phone had no way to send anything.

The first entry read:

Day 1.

Hi Dad.

I’m writing you every night like you told me to.