No Secrets was the difference between just staying afloat and living in luxury on the cliff tops in his late thirties. He was so fortunate to have stumbled across the idea for the book.

“I want you to be happy, Daniel.”

He fobbed her off with a side hug. This was not the time to have that conversation. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll call you tomorrow so we can work out a time to go through the last of Gramps’s stuff.”

His mother deposited the sodden handkerchief in her oversized handbag and then drew out an envelope with trembling fingers.

“There’s one more thing. He wanted you to have this.” She glanced again at the familiar writing, and the tears returned. “I need to talk to the funeral director—” Another cresting wave of emotion carried her from the room.

The last of Gramps sat at Daniel’s feet, his last words in his hands. He took another lukewarm sip as he studied the envelope and the two words printed across the front in a stilted hand.

For Daniel

He drained the Styrofoam cup, ran a finger under the sealed flap, and drew out a single page filled with Gramps’s upright handwriting. He ran a hand through his thick black curls and then adjusted his glasses as the sadness, clamped down for the funeral, wriggled free. For the last time, Gramps spoke to him.

My boy, you often told me very little surprises you, so I thought I would speak to you from beyond the grave. I’m sure that might.

Daniel chuckled as the gravel in Gramps’s voice echoed in his head and shook loose a tear.

I’m so proud of the man you’ve become, with the success of your counseling practice and, of course, that book.

Daniel smiled through a bitten lip and filmed eyes.

I know you’ve got great insights into other people, but I worry for your family, Daniel. When I’ve raised this before, you’ve always shifted the conversation. Forgive an old man for advising the counselor, but I can see where your hearts are and where you’re headed. Based on your current trajectory, I’m not sure you’ll last.

Daniel winced as he sucked in a breath. He looked across to his distant daughter, thumbs hammering at her phone, within reach yet so far away.

I can help. I’m leaving you this gift I wish I had in my younger days, when choices in front of me were easier and would have saved so much pain.

The briefcase sat at his feet. Its leather shone in patches, and cracks on the lid revealed a paisley pattern beneath. Silver corners were burnished and tarnished, and combination tumblers with faded numbers sat on either side of the clasps.

My gift to you is in my old briefcase. I’m sure you’ll be able to unlock it. The combination represents the most special day in my life.