I spent my whole life believing my father had abandoned us without looking back. Then, after years of silence, he suddenly returned. I wanted nothing to do with him. But before I could walk away, he said something that shattered everything: “You need to know the truth about your mother.”
I hated men. A bold statement, right? But I had my reasons. I grew up watching my father walk out of our home, never to return. I watched my mother struggle, working long hours to take care of me. I was only four years old when he left, but I still remember that night as if it had been burned into my soul.
The moment the front door slammed behind him, my mother collapsed onto the floor, as if all the strength had drained from her body. She didn’t just cry—she shattered.
I didn’t understand what was happening, but I hated seeing her like that. I wrapped my tiny arms around her and whispered the only thing I could think of.
“Mom, don’t cry. Dad will come back.”
Her body tensed. Then, suddenly, she grabbed my shoulders, her eyes wild with fury and pain. “Never mention your father again! Never!” she screamed. “Alice, remember this: all men are bastards, and you can never trust them.”
I was too scared to argue. Too confused. But I listened.
As an obedient daughter, I held onto those words like they were sacred, like they were the truth.
She never wanted me to talk about him, but she never stopped talking about him herself.
“Your father was useless.” “He abandoned us.” “He used me.” “He never did anything for us.”
I heard these words over and over throughout my childhood. They were drilled into my mind like a hammer pounding nails into wood. And with each repetition, I hated him more. And I pitied my mother more.
Yet, at night, when no one could see me, I cried. I watched the girls at school with their fathers—fathers who loved them. Fathers who hugged them, picked them up when they fell, made them laugh.
And I wondered. Why didn’t I deserve that? What did I do to make him leave me?
But the older I got, the more I believed my mother. All men were bastards. All except one.
Jeremy.
I met Jeremy at my first real job after college. He was also an intern.
We connected quickly, though I had been skeptical at first. He became the only man who managed to break through my armor, to show me what it truly meant to be loved.
After six months of dating, he decided it was time for me to meet his parents—or rather, his mother and stepfather. Gloria and Peter.
I flinched when I heard his stepfather’s name. Peter. My father’s name. Not a great start.
But Jeremy reassured me. “My Peter is wonderful,” he said. “He took me in and raised me like I was his own son.”
Lucky him.
But when I stepped into their home, my worst nightmare came to life.
The moment I saw him, my whole body froze.
My breath caught in my throat. The air in the room felt heavy, pressing down on me.
He looked older. His hair had streaks of gray, and his face had more lines than I remembered. But there was no mistaking him. I knew that face.
“Dad?” The word slipped out before I could stop it. My voice shook.
His eyes widened, his lips parted slightly. “Alice…”
A wave of shock and fury crashed over me, knocking the air from my lungs. My chest tightened, my vision blurred. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.
Jeremy called my name, confusion in his voice, but I didn’t stop. I rushed outside, gasping for air.
The truth hit me like a tidal wave. My father had left us for another family. A family he loved.
A family he had chosen.
I cried the whole way home. No. Not home. I went to the only person who could understand me.
I knocked on her door, and within seconds, she opened it. Her brows furrowed as she looked at me. “Alice, what happened?”
I tried to answer, but my throat closed. “Mom,” was all I managed to say before breaking down in her arms.
She held me, brushing my hair back. “Tell me what happened.”
I told her everything. About Jeremy, whom I had never mentioned before, afraid she wouldn’t accept him. About meeting his parents. About seeing my father.
Her face hardened. “I told you, Alice. I told you never to trust men.”
I wiped my face. “You were right,” I whispered.
She nodded. “Look at what they’ve done to us.”
A few days passed, but I still couldn’t process what had happened. My thoughts wouldn’t settle, and every quiet moment pulled me back to that night.
Then, he appeared at my workplace.
My father stood at the entrance, waiting for me. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched.
I had no desire to stop. No desire to talk.
“Alice!” he called. I kept walking. But then, his hand closed around my arm.
“Don’t touch me!” I yanked my arm back, my chest burning with anger.
His face fell. “I need to talk to you.”
“We have nothing to talk about.”
His eyes darkened. “You need to know the truth about your mother.”
I scoffed. “Don’t you dare talk about her!”
His jaw tightened. “Alice… you are not my real daughter.”
I stared at him. “What?!”
“Your mother cheated on me with a wealthy man,” he continued. “She was seeing both of us at the same time. When she got pregnant, he left her. So she told me you were mine.”
“You’re lying!”
“Alice, I did a DNA test years ago. I found out the truth. But I still loved you. I wanted to stay. But your mother… she wouldn’t let me. She made sure you would never want me back.”
My head spun.
I went back to my mother, demanding the truth. She didn’t deny it.
“I did what I had to do!” she shouted. “He didn’t deserve you!”
“No! You didn’t want him in my life because he was a reminder of your mistake!”
Silence.
That night, I left her house for good.
I called Jeremy and told him everything. He listened quietly. When I finished, he reached for my hand.
“Take all the time you need. I’m here for you.”
For the first time in my life, I realized something.
I had spent years carrying a hatred that wasn’t mine.
It had shaped my thoughts, my fears, my choices.
Now, I had to build my own life. I had to understand who I really was without her anger guiding me.
I had to learn how to be me.
