It was a short video file, dated several months before Richard’s death.
The image was grainy, but Richard’s face was unmistakable.
He sat in his study, looking directly into the camera.
“If you’re watching this, Tyler, then your father has probably made you believe that love is something you have to earn.”
My eyes filled with tears.
Richard continued.
“It isn’t. And you are not responsible for fixing the mistakes of the adults around you.”
He paused, gathering himself.
“There is a silver key inside the wooden model sailboat on my study shelf. It opens the lower drawer of my old desk. Inside that drawer is a small recorder and a letter. If you ever feel that you have no one to trust, find the person who has loved you without asking you to become someone else.”
He looked down briefly.
Then he said the words that broke me.
