know about the letter sewn inside.
The visible note simply told him the suit was for him and that when the time came, he should wear it.
That meant Dad had deliberately created a test of trust.
Eric had to choose whether to follow one strange final instruction without knowing why.
Wear a bright red suit.
Walk into your father’s funeral.
Let everyone stare.
Trust me.
And Eric had.
That was what Dad had needed from him.
One final act of trust.
And once Eric gave it, Dad gave something back.
All the words that should have been spoken years earlier.
The next morning, Eric left.
Before getting into his car, we hugged.
We weren’t usually people who hugged.
We were Dad’s children.
We tended to show up instead.
But that morning, we did both.
Eric took the letter, the old key, and the painting.
The red suit went into
