For a full minute, he read it again and again, thinking it was a joke. Perhaps the punchline to a running gag about how he never returned the hedge trimmer. But the ink was too steady, the paper too crisp. He read on.
Do not feel abandoned. Feel released. You were never meant to be my anchor; you were meant to be my sail. And a sail, my love, only works when the ship knows how to steer without it. querido hijo estas despedido
You are an adult. You have a career, a girlfriend who rolls her eyes when I call too often, and a life that runs just fine without my daily prayers for your socks to match. And yet, I have been acting as your general manager—worried about your cholesterol, your heating bill, the fact that you haven’t changed your car’s oil in fourteen months. For a full minute, he read it again
Querido hijo, estás despedido