“Lina, I’m Your Father” — The Phone Call That Changed Everything
On the morning of my 20th birthday, my phone rang. I was still in my pajamas, standing in the tiny kitchen of my college dorm, reheating cold pizza from last night’s celebration. The number flashing on my screen was unknown. Usually, I’d ignore a number like that, but something made me stop.
I hesitated, then picked it up.
“Hello?” I said.
There was a pause. Then a deep, slightly shaky voice answered.
“Lina… It’s me. I’m your father.”
I stopped breathing. My heart thudded so loud, I was sure the person on the other end could hear it. My fingers went numb. The slice of pizza slipped from my hand and flopped back onto the plate.
My father.
The man who vanished when I was three.
No birthday cards. No phone calls. Not a single visit.
And now, suddenly, he was calling?
But he didn’t say “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t ask how I was or if I had a good life.
No.
He said, “You have to help me.”
Just like that.
All my life, it was easier to pretend he had died. Telling people, “My dad passed when I was little,” hurt less than saying, “My dad walked out and never came back.”
Because honestly, who does that?
But that’s exactly what he did.
My mom married him after he got divorced from his first wife. Things were fine in the beginning. Mom used to tell me stories of how charming he was—bringing her flowers, making her laugh so hard she cried. He wasn’t perfect, but she thought he was solid.
When I was born, he looked happy.
We had pictures—him cradling me in his arms, beaming with pride.
He came to my preschool plays and clapped the loudest.
For a short while, we looked like a real, happy family.
But everything changed when Mom got pregnant with my little sister, Stacey.
“It was like he turned into a stranger,” Mom once told me. “He stopped coming home on time. Stopped talking to me. He wouldn’t even touch my belly.”
She’d try to show him ultrasound pictures. She’d call him during doctor appointments to share baby updates. But he never picked up. Never returned her calls.
“I kept telling myself he was just scared,” she said softly. “Some men freak out over a second baby. I kept making excuses.”
But then the day came. The day she gave birth to Stacey.
He never came to the hospital.
She waited in that cold hospital room for hours, holding a newborn in her arms, watching other families go home together. Her phone calls went straight to voicemail. No reply. No message.
And when she finally got a ride home from a kind neighbor, she walked into an empty house.
His clothes? Gone.
His things? Gone.
Him? Just… gone.
After that, Mom became everything. A provider, a protector, a mom and dad rolled into one.
She worked double shifts at a local diner. Came home exhausted but still helped me with homework and brushed Stacey’s hair for school. She never complained. Never made us feel like we were a burden.
But even with all the love Mom gave us, there was always a hole inside me. A deep, aching “dad-shaped” hole. One that kept getting bigger every time I saw other kids with their fathers.
Why did he leave?
Why weren’t we enough?
What was so wrong with us that he walked away without a word?
I never got those answers. Not until my 20th birthday.
Back in the dorm, his voice was still talking.
“I’ve been trying to find you,” he said. “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday in person. Can we meet?”
Every part of me wanted to yell NO.
You left us. You abandoned Mom in a hospital room. You made me grow up wondering why I was never enough.
But then… another part of me, the little girl who cried during Father’s Day at school, wanted to know why.
“…I guess,” I said, swallowing hard. “Tomorrow?”
“There’s a diner on Fifth Street,” he said quickly. “Tony’s Place. Near your mother’s house. You know it?”
Of course I knew it. Mom used to take us there when money was tight but she wanted to make a day feel special.
“1 p.m.,” he said. “Thank you, Lina. This means everything.”
The next day, I got there 15 minutes early and spotted him right away.
He looked nothing like the man in my baby photos. His hair was greying and slicked back. He wore an old blazer that didn’t quite fit. When he saw me, he jumped up with a wide smile.
“Lina! Look at you! You’re so grown up! How are you?”
I nodded and sat down across from him. “Hi. I’m fine.”
Without wasting a second, he said, “I’ve changed, Lina. I was a mess back then—drinking, making bad choices. But I’ve cleaned up now. I want to know you. I want to be a real father.”
I looked him straight in the eye.
“Why did you leave?”
“Where have you been?”
“Why didn’t you send child support?”
He dodged every question like a pro.
“I made mistakes,” he said, eyes getting watery. “But this… this is the universe giving me another shot.”
Then he leaned forward, lowered his voice, and dropped the real reason for the call.
“I’m starting a new business. Food trucks. Huge potential. I just need someone to believe in me.”
He smiled like it was a great idea.
“I heard you’re smart. In college and all. You probably have some student loan money, right?”
And there it was. The truth.
He didn’t come back for love. Or guilt. Or family.
He came back for money.
I stared at him, keeping my face blank.
I gave a slow nod. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do. Just… give me a couple of days.”
As soon as I walked out of Tony’s Place, I called Mom.
“Mom, you need to sit down,” I said. “Dad called me.”
Silence.
Then, “What did you just say?” Her voice was sharp.
“Your dad called you?”
“Yeah. We met already. And… he wants money.”
“WHAT?!” she nearly shouted. “Did you give him any?!”
“No. Of course not.”
“Come home right now. We need to talk.”
Twenty minutes later, I was at our kitchen table, telling her every detail.
Mom’s hands were shaking as she listened. “Seventeen years and now he wants money? He’s got some nerve…”
I nodded. “I was so mad, Mom.”
She stared at the wall for a moment. Then a fire lit in her eyes. The same fire I saw whenever she went full Mama Bear for me and Stacey.
“You know what? Let’s teach him a lesson he won’t forget.”
We stayed up all night, pulling out every document we could find.
- Receipts.
- Bank transfers.
- Medical bills.
- Old photos.
- Proof she paid for everything on her own.
“This is seventeen years of proof he gave us nothing,” she said, spreading papers on the table. “Time for him to finally be held responsible.”
The next morning, we walked into a lawyer’s office. When we told her the story, the lawyer leaned back and smiled.
“You’ve got a strong case. Let’s file.”
Two weeks later, I texted Dad again.
“I got the money. Can we meet at the diner again?”
His reply came fast.
“Yes! I’ll be there!! Thank you, Lina!”
He had no idea what was coming.
When he arrived, I handed him a thick envelope.
He grinned. “Is this the—?”
“Nope,” I said calmly.
“You’re being served. That’s a court summons. You’ll need to show up in family court.”
His face dropped. He opened the envelope. His hands started to shake.
“What is this?!”
“Seventeen years of unpaid child support,” I said. “Plus interest.”
He didn’t say a word. Just sat there, stunned.
A few months later, we won the case.
The judge ordered him to pay every missed payment.
$86,000.
Mom cried when we got the news. Not tears of revenge—tears of relief.
She finally got the justice she deserved.
As for me and Stacey?
We’re done with him.
He had his chance to be a father.
He walked away from it.
Now, we’re walking away from him—for good.