Growing up, I always felt like something was missing. My mom raised me on her own, working tirelessly to provide for me. I admired her strength and resilience, but I couldn’t help wondering about my father. Who was he? Why did he leave us?
As a child, I would ask my mom about him, but she would brush me off, saying only that he had left us. I tried to fill in the gaps with my imagination, creating scenarios where he was a soldier or an explorer, unable to come home. But as I grew older, my curiosity only deepened.
I began writing letters to him, not to send, but to process my emotions. I poured my heart out, telling him about my life, my hopes, and my dreams. It was my way of connecting with him, even if only in my imagination.
When I turned 18, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I searched for him online, and after weeks of searching, I finally found him. I sent him a message, introducing myself and asking to meet.
To my surprise, he agreed. We arranged to meet at a coffee shop, and I spent hours imagining our reunion. I envisioned him walking in, tears in his eyes, and apologizing for leaving us. But the reality was far from it.
When he arrived, he was calm and collected. He looked at me with a mixture of recognition and disdain. “I hate you,” he said, his words cutting deep. “I never wanted you. I begged your mother to end the pregnancy, but she refused.”
I was stunned. I had never imagined that he would reject me so utterly. He told me that he had a life now, a wife, and that he didn’t want anything to do with me. He walked out, leaving me feeling shattered and alone.
I returned home, tears streaming down my face. My mom saw the pain in my eyes and knew that I had met him. She held me close, apologizing for not telling me the truth sooner. She explained that my father had been furious when she got pregnant, that he had wanted her to end the pregnancy, but she had refused.
As I listened to her words, I realized that my mom had been protecting me all along. She had kept the truth from me to spare me the pain of knowing that my father didn’t want me. But now, I understood. My father’s rejection wasn’t about me; it was about him.
In that moment, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. I knew that I didn’t need my father’s love or approval to be worthy. My mom had shown me that true love and acceptance came from her, and that she would always be there for me.
As I looked at my mom, I saw a woman who had sacrificed everything for me. She had worked tirelessly to provide for me, to give me a stable home, and to keep me safe. And in that moment, I knew that I would always be grateful for her love and devotion.
