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.
“So you never miss another day.”
So now, every night before he goes to bed, Finn types a message on that old phone.
I read them each morning over our cereal.
Last night’s message said:
Day 61.
Dad made pancakes.
The lizard’s name is Rig.
I’m ok.
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