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.

I knocked hard on the door. I didn’t knock like a guest. I knocked like a son.

Reagan opened the door wearing a green dress with pearl earrings. My stepmother looked at me like I was a nasty stain on her new carpet.

“You got out earlier than I expected,” she said flatly.

“Where is my dad?” I asked.

She let out a long sigh.

“He died a year ago, Finnley. Cancer. It was fast and painful. It’s over now.”

I felt like the ground was moving under my feet.

“And nobody told me? Nobody asked the prison to let me see him?”

Reagan gave a tiny, cruel smile.

“Finnley, you went to jail for stealing from your own father’s business. Do you really think he wanted you showing up and ruining his funeral?”

“I didn’t steal anything from him.”

“That’s what you kept saying at the trial, but nobody believed you.”