Before his last breath, he whispered, “Check the trunk in my old shed.” Days later, I found it—filled with letters, photos, and a journal revealing his secret life as a selfless addiction counselor. He had spent years helping others, never telling us.

At his funeral, strangers shared stories of how he’d saved them. My guilt eased—he had never been alone. Inspired, my daughter said, “I want to help people too.”

That night, I dreamt of him smiling, whispering, “Thank you. I will always take care of you.” His legacy of kindness lives on, proving that love isn’t about where someone stays, but the impact they leave behind.