I opened it after dinner, with her sitting nearby but not reading over my shoulder.

Dad had never been good at writing.

The letter began with a long paragraph about the jobs he’d worked, the bills he’d paid, and how hard it had been after Mom died.

I almost stopped there.

It sounded like the speech he gave whenever I asked why he was angry.

But halfway down the second page, the words changed.

“I locked the door.

You asked for a coat, and I said no.