I Visited My Late Father’s House for the First Time in 13 Years and Found a Bag in the Attic with a Note for Me

3… 2… 1… GO!

I hit the gas, my car speeding down the track beside his.

The ghost car moved exactly as I remembered — flawless turns and perfect acceleration. I could almost hear his laughter and his teasing voice. “Come on, pumpkin, you gotta push harder than that.”

“I’m trying, Dad!” I laughed through my tears, gripping the controller tighter. “You always were a show-off on this track!”

I pushed. Race after race, I tried to catch him. But just like before, he was always ahead.

“You’re holding back,” I could almost hear him say. “You always do that when you’re afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” I argued with the ghost car. “I’m just… I’m not ready to say goodbye again.”

And for the first time in 13 years, it felt like he was here with me.

It took hours, but eventually, I did it. On the final lap, I finally pulled ahead. The finish line was right there. One more second, and I’d win. One more second, and I’d erase his ghost from the game.

My thumb hovered over the gas button.

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