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 hate all men. A great start, right? But I had my reasons.
I watched my father walk out of our house, never to return.
I watched my mother work tirelessly to provide for me. I still remember the night he left us, even though I had been only four years old.
The moment the front door closed behind him, my mother collapsed onto the floor as if all the strength had drained from her body. She didn’t just cry—she broke.
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,” I told her, my voice hopeful, innocent.
“Never mention your father again! Never!” she screamed.
“Alice, remember one thing: all men are bastards, and you can never trust them.” I didn’t argue. I was too scared. Too confused.
But I listened.
As an obedient daughter, I held onto those words, clung to them like a rule I was never meant to break.
She never wanted me to talk about him, but she never stopped bringing him up herself.
“Your father was useless.” “He abandoned us.” “He used me.” “He never did anything for us.”
I heard these words my whole childhood. They were drilled into my mind, sinking deeper with every repetition. With each one, 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.
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’s words. 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 the best 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.
I had been incredibly nervous that day. My stomach twisted into knots, my palms were damp, and my heart pounded so hard that I felt it in my throat.
No matter how many deep breaths I took, the unease wouldn’t go away. Jeremy had tried to comfort me, but his words didn’t help.
“You don’t have to be so nervous,” he said, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.
By the time he rang the doorbell, my legs were trembling.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, hoping I wouldn’t embarrass myself by looking as anxious as I felt.
The door swung open, and a woman with bright eyes and a warm smile greeted us. “Come in! We’ve been waiting for you!” Gloria said, beaming.
Jeremy stepped inside first, gently tugging me along.
My hands felt cold, even though the air was warm.
“Peter! Come say hello to the kids!” Gloria called, turning toward another room.
I heard footsteps. Slow.
Steady. Unhurried. Then he appeared.
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…” His voice was soft, almost uncertain.
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?” she asked, concern in her voice.
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.” I nodded back. Tears kept falling.
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.
No matter how hard I tried to push it away, the feelings of shock and anger stayed with me.
Jeremy kept calling and texting, probably a thousand times.
I wasn’t ready to talk, not even to him.
I took a few days off work, hoping the time alone would help me clear my head. It didn’t. The confusion, the frustration, and the pain only grew stronger.
When I finally decided to go back, I forced myself to take a deep breath and step outside.
But the moment I reached my office, my body tensed.
An unpleasant surprise was waiting for me—a surprise that sent me spiraling into panic and rage all over again.
My father stood at the entrance of my workplace. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched.
His eyes scanned the sidewalk, nervous, restless. He was waiting.
For someone. For me.
I had no desire to stop. No desire to talk.
My heart pounded, but I forced myself to keep walking. If I ignored him, maybe he would leave.
“Alice!” He reached out, his fingers closing around my arm.
“Don’t touch me!” I yanked my arm back and stepped away. My chest burned with anger.
He lifted his hands in surrender.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I clenched my fists. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” he said.
“We have nothing to talk about,” I snapped. “Your chance to ‘talk’ expired years ago.”
His eyes darkened.
“You need to know the truth about your mother.”
I felt the heat rise to my face. My whole body tensed. “Don’t you dare talk about her!” My voice shook, but I didn’t care.
“Do you have any idea how much pain you caused her?! She was miserable her entire life because of you!”
He inhaled deeply. His shoulders sagged.
“I’m afraid there’s a lot you don’t know.”
I scoffed. “What don’t I know? That you abandoned my mom?
That you abandoned me? Your own daughter?”
His jaw tightened. “Alice… you are not my real daughter.”
“You bastard!” I shouted.
“That’s what you wanted to tell me after all these years?! That you never saw me as your real daughter?!”
“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying.” His voice cracked. “I always saw you as my daughter.
I believed you were mine. But one day, I decided to do DNA tests for all of us, just for fun. And that’s when I found out… you weren’t my biological child.”
“What?” I whispered, unable to process his words.
“Your mother cheated on me with a wealthy man, ” he continued.
“She was seeing both of us at the same time. But when she got pregnant, he left her. She was afraid of being alone, so she told me you were mine.”
I shook my head.
“I… I don’t understand.” My voice came out broken.
“I’m sorry, Alice. I never wanted to hurt you,” he said.
Something clicked in my mind. A thought that made my stomach twist.
“Wait. Jeremy isn’t your biological son either, but you accepted him as your own. What makes me different?
What’s wrong with me?”
His face softened. “Alice, there’s nothing wrong with you. I never wanted to lose you.
But I couldn’t stay with your mother anymore. I wanted to be in your life, but she wouldn’t let me. She told me you didn’t want to see me.
That you hated me.”
Tears burned my eyes. “But I did want to see you!” My voice cracked.
He took a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry.
I should have tried harder. But I believed her when she said you despised me. I thought I was sparing you more pain.”
I wiped my face, my hands trembling.
“What do you want from me now?”
He swallowed. “I want to know you. I want to be in your life.”
I took a step back.
My chest felt heavy. “I need time.” Without waiting for his response, I turned and walked into my office.
That day, I spoke to Jeremy and told him everything. Jeremy listened without interrupting, his face full of concern.
When I finished, he nodded, his voice calm.
“I understand,” he said. “Take all the time you need. I’m here for you.”
His support meant more than I could say.
I deeply appreciated it.
When my shift ended, I went straight to my mother. My chest tightened with every step. I needed to know if what my father had said was true.
I walked into the house without knocking.
My mother was in the kitchen, standing by the stove, completely unaware of the storm inside me.
I stood in the doorway, my hands clenched into fists. My chest felt tight, my throat dry. My mother turned to face me, her eyes widening in surprise.
“Is it true that you stopped my father from seeing me?” My voice was sharp.
“Alice!
You scared me!” she said, pressing a hand to her chest.
I didn’t flinch. “So is it true?” I demanded.
She frowned. “Where did you get that idea?”
I took a deep breath.
My body was trembling. “He told me. He said you cheated on him, and that’s why he left.”
Her expression darkened.
“And you believe him?”
“I don’t know!” My voice broke. “That’s why I’m asking you!”
She turned away, stirring something on the stove. “Alice, it’s complicated.”
I stepped closer.
“So it’s true?!” I shouted.
She slammed the spoon down. “He left us! I didn’t want him in our lives!”
“He left you!
Not me! You pushed him away because of your mistake!”
Her face twisted with anger. “And I was right!”
“No,” I said, my voice shaking.
“You made me miserable.” I turned and walked out.
I texted Jeremy and asked him to pick me up. The seconds dragged as I waited, my body tense.
He was outside my mother’s house within ten minutes. I stepped out, feeling drained.
Jeremy leaned toward the passenger side, unlocking the door.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“I need you to take me to Peter,” I said, my tone firm.
Jeremy didn’t question it. He simply nodded and started the car. It seemed I was finally ready to talk.
I had spent my whole life hating men.
But as it turned out, that hatred had never been mine—it had been hers.
It had shaped my thoughts, my fears, my choices. Now, I had to learn how to build my own life and feel my own emotions. I had to understand who I really was without her anger guiding me.
Source: amomama
