I Paid My Father $250 in Rent Every Month for Five Years. After His Funeral, His Best Friend Gave Me a Key and a Box.

I cut the tape.

The first thing I saw was a leather vest with faded patches sewn down the front.

Beneath it lay guitar picks, backstage passes, and a photograph of Dad standing beneath concert lights with his hair brushing his shoulders.

He was smiling so openly that I almost failed to recognize him.

“That was taken at the Riverside Theater,” Frank said.

“Your mother was in the front row.