have begrudged Eric a cent regardless. It was something else. A fund Dad had quietly built over decades, earmarked in the paperwork with a single line: “For Eric, to make the bright thing he was always meant to make. I’m sorry it took me dying to stop being afraid of it.”
Chapter 4: What the Bright Thing Was
Eric had always wanted to be an artist.
That was the thing our father had spent a lifetime discouraging — gently, then not gently. Art was not a life for a serious man.
