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 strong statement, I know, but I had my reasons. I grew up watching my mother struggle, left alone to raise me after my father walked out on us. I still remember that night, even though I was only four years old.
The front door slammed shut behind him, and my mother collapsed onto the floor like all the life had been drained from her body. She didn’t just cry—she shattered.
I didn’t understand what was happening, but seeing her like that made my little heart ache. I wrapped my tiny arms around her and whispered the only thing that made sense to me.
“Mom, don’t cry. Dad will come back.” My voice was small, hopeful, innocent.
Her head snapped up. Her tear-streaked face twisted with fury. “Never mention your father again! Never!” she screamed. “Alice, remember one thing: all men are bastards, and you can never trust them.”
I was too scared to argue, too young to understand. But I listened. As an obedient daughter, I held onto those words, clung to them like an unbreakable rule.
She never wanted me to talk about him, yet she never stopped bringing him up herself.
“Your father was useless.” “He abandoned us.” “He used me.” “He never did anything for us.”
With every repetition, I hated him more. And I pitied her more. I never questioned her words. Why would I? She was my mother, the only parent I had left.
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. We started as interns together, and despite my skepticism, we connected quickly. He was different. 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. His mother, Gloria, and his stepfather, Peter.
Peter. The name sent a chill down my spine. It was my father’s name. Not a great sign.
“My Peter is wonderful,” Jeremy assured me. “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 damp, my heart pounding. Jeremy tried to reassure me, squeezing my hand.
“You don’t have to be so nervous,” he said, smiling.
By the time he rang the doorbell, my legs were shaking. 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 beamed.
Jeremy stepped inside first, gently tugging me along. My hands felt cold despite the warmth of the house.
“Peter! Come say hello to the kids!” Gloria called toward another room.
Footsteps. Slow. Steady. Unhurried.
Then he appeared.
My whole body froze.
My breath caught in my throat. The air in the room felt heavy, pressing down on me. He looked older. Gray streaks ran through his hair, and his face had more lines than I remembered. But I knew that face.
“Dad?” The word slipped out before I could stop it.
His eyes widened, lips parting slightly. “Alice…” His voice was soft, uncertain.
Shock and fury crashed over me like a tidal wave. 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 ran outside, gasping for air.
The truth hit me like a brick wall. My father had left us for another family. A family he loved. A family he had chosen.
I cried the whole way home.
I needed comfort. I needed my mother. I knocked on her door, and she opened it within seconds, her brows furrowed in concern.
“Alice, what happened?”
I tried to speak, but my throat closed. “Mom,” I choked before breaking down in her arms.
She held me, stroking my hair. “Tell me everything.”
I told her about Jeremy. About his family. About my father.
Her face hardened. “I told you, Alice. I told you never to trust men.”
A few days passed, but the anger didn’t fade. The confusion only grew stronger.
Then, an unpleasant surprise awaited me outside my workplace.
My father stood there, his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning the sidewalk. He was waiting. For me.
I forced myself to walk past him, pretending not to see.
“Alice!” He reached out, his fingers brushing my arm.
“Don’t touch me!” I yanked away, fury burning in my chest.
He lifted his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“What are you doing here?” I snapped.
“I need to talk to you.”
“We have nothing to talk about,” I said coldly. “Your chance expired years ago.”
He hesitated, then exhaled. “You need to know the truth about your mother.”
I felt heat rise to my face. “Don’t you dare talk about her!”
He looked me in the eye. “Alice… you are not my real daughter.”
The words knocked the breath out of me.
“Your mother cheated on me,” he said. “She lied about your father. When I found out the truth, I couldn’t stay. But I never wanted to leave you.”
Tears blurred my vision. “I did want to see you,” I whispered.
He swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry. I should have tried harder.”
I walked away, my mind spinning. That night, I confronted my mother. She didn’t deny it.
“He left you! Not me!” I shouted.
“And I was right!” she shot back.
“No. You made me miserable.” I turned and walked out.
Jeremy picked me up, silent but understanding.
“Take me to Peter,” I said firmly.
I had spent my whole life hating men. But that hatred had never been mine. It had been hers. And it was time to let it go.
