My Dad Started Charging Me $250 a Month for My Room When I Turned 18 — Five Years Later, After His Funeral, His Best Friend Handed Me a Box

I wanted him to tell me he had made it as a joke, that we would eat the cupcake and talk about what I might do with my life.

Instead, he asked whether I had work that evening.

“Eight hours,” I said.

“Then you’ll have wages coming in.”

I folded the paper once, but I did not put it away.

Dad looked at the candle still trapped beneath the plastic lid.

“You should light that before you leave.

No point wasting it.”