After burying my wife, I finally unlocked the barn she had never allowed me to enter. For 37 years, it had been sealed off, a place she insisted held nothing but old tools and useless clutter. I expected dust, silence, and memories long forgotten.

I stood outside room 414 for a long moment before pushing the door open.

Dennis was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Both hands were wrapped in thick white bandages, with smaller bandages on his cheek and forehead. His eyes were red.

When he saw me, his whole body tensed.

“Dad,” he whispered.

I sat down in the chair beside his bed. Neither of us spoke for a moment.

“They told me you confessed to everything,” I finally said.

Dennis nodded.

“I did. All three times. The rumors, the ladder, the fire. I’m not going to lie about it. I’m not going to make excuses.”

“Why, Dennis?”

The question came out broken.

“Why did you do it?”

His bandaged hands clenched.

“Because I was angry. Because I felt like everything I’d done for you and Mom suddenly didn’t matter. Because Brian showed up and it felt like he was taking my place. Taking Mom’s love even after she was gone. Taking your attention. Taking the farm I thought would be mine.”

Tears streamed down his face.

“I know how selfish and cruel it sounds, but that’s the truth.”

“You could have ended both our lives,” I said quietly.

“I know.”

Dennis’s voice cracked.