Ben paused, taking a breath before revealing the location of those mysterious trips. “Every Thursday, instead of driving to the medical center, I drove him thirty miles out of town to a small, quiet workshop near the lake. A master woodworker named Samuel ran the place. Your dad had contacted him months earlier, begging Samuel to teach him how to craft hand-carved wooden furniture using only his sense of touch, sound, and muscle memory.”
I stared at Ben in utter shock. “He was woodworking? Completely blind?”
“At first, it was terrifying to watch,” Ben admitted, chuckling softly at the memory. 
“Samuel was hesitant, but your dad’s determination was unbelievable. He spent hours learning how to feel the grain of the wood, measuring lengths by precise notches cut into custom wooden rulers, and using hand tools with incredible patience. He hurt his hands more times than I can count in those first few months, but he refused to quit. He insisted that every Thursday be dedicated to that shop.”
“Wait,” I interrupted, my mind piecing together years of phone conversations. “What about the medical reports? What about the receipts from the pharmacy?”
“Your dad kept his health stable through a local clinic nearby that offered quick checkups on Tuesdays, which he paid for himself,” Ben revealed. 
“And as for the receipts, I helped him organize those so you wouldn’t worry. He knew that if you found out he was spending hours working with heavy timber and sharp tools without his sight, you would have panicked and forced him to move into an assisted living facility near you. He couldn’t let that happen. He needed his independence, and he needed to finish his final project.”
“What project?” I asked, my fingers tightening around the envelope in my hands. 
“Open it,” Ben said gently, gesturing toward the paper in my lap. “He wanted you to read it here, where he could finally share his secret with you.”
With trembling fingers, I broke the wax seal of the envelope and pulled out a neatly folded piece of heavy paper. Though the handwriting was slightly uneven due to his lack of vision, my father’s words were clear, bold, and unmistakable.
My dear child, 
If you are reading this, it means my long journey has finally come to an end, and Ben has kept his promise to reveal where we went every Thursday. I know you might feel hurt that I kept this from you, or angry that I misled you about those medical visits. Please forgive me. I needed you to believe I was safe so you could live your life without constantly worrying about an old man sitting alone in the dark...
