I held the paper against my chest.
"You earned every dollar of this. Don't waste it the way I wasted my chance."
I held the paper against my chest.
For five years, I'd thought Dad was taking away my future, twenty-five hundred cents at a time.
And all along, he'd been trying, in his own stubborn, terribly misguided way, to give it back to me.
I looked toward the dark computer screen.
"Thanks, Dad," I whispered. "I just wish you'd told me while you were here."