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.
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.
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. “Alice, what happened?” she asked, concern in her voice.
I told her everything. Her face hardened. “I told you, Alice. I told you never to trust men.”
A few days passed, but I still couldn’t process what had happened. When I finally decided to go back to work, my body tensed at the sight waiting for me.
My father stood at the entrance of my workplace. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched. He was waiting. For me.
“Alice!” He reached out.
“Don’t touch me!” I snapped.
“You need to know the truth about your mother,” he said.
“Don’t you dare talk about her!” My voice shook. “Do you have any idea how much pain you caused her?!”
He inhaled deeply. “I’m afraid there’s a lot you don’t know.”
I scoffed. “Like what? That you abandoned me?”
His jaw tightened. “Alice… you are not my real daughter.”
I felt like the ground had disappeared beneath me.
“Your mother cheated on me,” he continued. “She told me you were mine, but a DNA test proved otherwise.”
Tears burned my eyes. “Then why did you accept Jeremy, but not me?”
“I wanted to stay,” he said, voice breaking. “But she wouldn’t let me. She told me you hated me.”
I wiped my face, my hands trembling. “What do you want from me now?”
He swallowed. “I want to be in your life.”
I took a step back. My chest felt heavy. “I need time.”
That day, I spoke to Jeremy. “Take all the time you need. I’m here for you,” he said, holding my hand.
Later, I confronted my mother. “You pushed him away because of your mistake!” I shouted.
“And I was right!” she yelled back.
“No,” I whispered. “You made me miserable.”
As I stepped outside, I texted Jeremy. “Take me to Peter.”
I had spent my whole life hating men. But as it turned out, that hatred had never been mine—it had been hers.
Now, I had to learn who I really was without it.
