Liam.

Much younger.

Standing beside another man.

His father.

I knew immediately.

Liam’s dad had died seven years before we met.

He rarely talked about the details.

I knew he’d died suddenly at home.

That was about it.

Frank sat down.

“I lived across the hall from his father.”

Liam remained standing.

Frank looked toward him.

“Sit down, kid.”

“I’m 41.”

“Sit.”

Liam sat.

Frank told me the rest.

Liam’s father had lived alone.

Apparently, he’d offered Liam a spare apartment key several times.

Liam always refused.

“He thought I was being dramatic,” Liam muttered.

Frank snorted. “You thought your father was being dramatic.”

“Same thing.”

Then came the morning his father stopped answering his phone.

Liam drove straight over.

He knocked, called, and eventually pounded on the door until Frank stepped into the hall.

Neither of them had a key, and locating building management took precious time.