I never saw my mom—Dad never said a word about her. Any questions I had were just shut down with “You don’t need to know!” So, I lost my mom, and I never got a real dad: no hugs, no love, not even a part of his time. He was fine with the others, so it felt like the problem was with me.
There was a company party, right? I was chatting with his partner. My dad walked by, and I just smiled at him. He shot me this icy glare—super creepy. This woman next to me noticed it.
She: “He hasn’t told you why he hates you?”
Me: “Hey, my dad doesn’t hate me!”
She: “Oh, come on! Weird he never told you. It all started years ago.”
When this woman told me the story, my heart felt like it stopped. HOW COULD HE NOT TELL ME?!
She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Your dad and your mom were deeply in love when they first met. They were inseparable, a perfect couple. But then, something happened—something that tore them apart and led to all this.”
I felt a cold knot form in my stomach. “What happened?”
She hesitated, looking around to ensure no one was listening. “Your mom had an affair.”
The words hit me like a punch in the gut. I could hardly breathe. “No… that can’t be true.”
She nodded solemnly. “It is. Your dad found out shortly after you were born. It broke him. He tried to make it work, but he couldn’t get past the betrayal. Eventually, she left, and he’s been holding onto that pain ever since.”
I stumbled back, needing to sit down. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Probably because he didn’t want to tarnish your image of her,” she suggested. “Or maybe, deep down, he blamed you for reminding him of her.”
I sat there, trying to process everything. My entire life had been a lie. The coldness, the distance, the lack of love—it all made a twisted kind of sense now. I felt a wave of anger, not just at my mother for what she did, but at my father for keeping this from me. I had been living in the dark, suffering from his silent wrath without understanding why.
Later that evening, I confronted my dad. He was in his office, staring blankly at his computer screen. I walked in, and he looked up, his eyes narrowing as if expecting a fight.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me about Mom?” I demanded, my voice trembling.
He sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. “Who told you?”
“It doesn’t matter who told me. Why didn’t you?”
He looked away, his jaw clenched. “I didn’t want you to hate her.”
“I deserved to know the truth!” I shouted. “You let me believe it was my fault all these years. You made me feel unloved and unwanted because of something I had no control over!”
He stood up, his face flushed with anger. “You think it was easy for me? Seeing you every day, a constant reminder of her betrayal? I did the best I could.”
“Your best wasn’t good enough!” I yelled back. “You should have been honest with me. Maybe then we could have worked through it together.”
{banner_1111}
The room fell silent, the weight of our words hanging in the air. He sank back into his chair, looking defeated.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and for the first time, I saw a crack in his armor. “I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
{banner_1212}
{banner_12}
“You already did,” I replied softly. “But maybe we can start over, try to understand each other.”
He nodded, tears glistening in his eyes. “I’d like that.”
{banner_1313}
{banner_13}
It wasn’t a perfect resolution, but it was a start. For the first time in years, we had a chance to rebuild our relationship, to heal the wounds that had festered for so long. And maybe, just maybe, we could find a way to move forward, together.
