My stepmother sl:ammed the door in my face after telling me, “Your father was bu:ried without you.” I didn’t scream, I didn’t beg; I walked straight to the cemetery with my prison clothes still in my backpack. But there I discovered there was no grave… only a secret letter that could destroy it.

When Nora gave me the address, I was so angry I couldn’t even speak. Thomas, the old gardener, insisted on coming with me. He said a son shouldn’t have to go find his father alone.

The public cemetery was a horrible place, far away from the fancy neighborhood where Reagan  lived. There were no trees or nice grass, just dry dirt, broken plastic flowers, and stray dogs running around. A worker walked us to a row at the very back.

“It’s this one right here,” he said, pointing to a rusty piece of metal in the dirt.

I dropped to my knees.

Camden D.

I touched the rusty metal and finally started crying like a kid. I cried for my dad, for my mom, and for the man who died trying to save me.

“I’m here, Dad,” I whispered. “I found you. We won.”

The wind blew dust around my shoes, and Thomas took off his hat out of respect.