For years, I lived with anger burning inside me. My father had abandoned me when I needed him the most, and I swore I would never forgive him. I dreamed of the day I could make him feel the same pain he made me feel. But when life finally gave me that chance, I hesitated.
One evening, as I was about to sit down for dinner, there was a knock on the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone. When I opened it, my heart nearly stopped. Standing before me was a man I hadn’t seen in years—my father.
“Hi, son,” he said, his voice shaky. “I’m sorry to come like this. I tried calling you, but you never answered.”
I crossed my arms. “Yeah? What do you want?”
He hesitated, his eyes darting to the ground. “I was wondering if… maybe I could stay with you for a while. I don’t have a place right now, so…”
I felt rage bubbling up inside me. “You can stay,” I said coldly, “but you have to pay rent.”
“I don’t have any money at all,” he admitted, looking embarrassed. “You’re the only person who can help me.”
I scoffed. “I don’t care.” My heart pounded as old wounds reopened. “You can live on the street for all I care. I wish God had taken you instead of Mom!”
His face crumbled, but I slammed the door before he could say another word.
As I turned around, my wife, Julie, was standing there, looking shocked. She had heard everything.
“Nick, what was that?” she asked, crossing her arms.
“You have no idea what I went through because of him,” I snapped.
“Then tell me.”
I sighed. I never talked about it, but she deserved to know. “It started when I turned eighteen. Mom had been gone for two years, and I think Dad was struggling to handle things alone. On my birthday, he threw a little party for me. It was nice… until he ruined it.”
“What did he do?” Julie asked softly.
“After the celebration, he sat me down and asked about my plans for the future. Then, out of nowhere, he told me that if I wanted to stay in the house, I had to start paying rent. I thought he was joking at first, but he wasn’t. Can you believe that? My own father! Charging me rent!”
Julie frowned but stayed silent, listening.
“I was furious. When I told him I’d rather live in a dorm than pay rent to my own dad, he shrugged and said he couldn’t afford my college anyway. That I had to figure it out myself—either get a job or take out a loan.”
Julie looked down, processing everything. “That’s why you left?”
“Yeah. I felt betrayed. So I left and never looked back.”
Julie took a deep breath. “Your dad reached out to me a few days ago. I gave him our address.”
I stared at her. “You what?!”
“I wanted you two to talk,” she admitted. “Nick, I know you’re angry, but it’s been years. Maybe it’s time to forgive him.”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t owe him anything. He kicked me out like I was nothing!”
“Honey, he’s your father.”
“So what? The only person who ever truly loved me was my mom. She would’ve never let him throw me out.”
Julie reached for my hand. “Nick… have you ever thought about his side of the story? You lost your mom, but he lost his wife. Maybe he didn’t know how to handle things either.”
I yanked my hand away. “Enough! I don’t want to hear it!”
Julie’s eyes filled with tears. We rarely fought, and I knew she was only trying to help. But I needed air. I grabbed my jacket and walked out into the night.
As I wandered the streets, my anger slowly faded into exhaustion. Then, as I passed by a park, I saw a figure curled up on a bench. Just another homeless man, I thought. But then I looked again. My stomach dropped.
It was my father.
“Dad?!” I rushed over and shook his shoulder. “Wake up! Are you okay?”
His eyes fluttered open. “Nick? Is that you?”
Guilt hit me like a truck. “Yes, Dad. I’m so sorry. I—”
“I just wanted you to do good in life,” he interrupted, his voice cracking.
I knelt beside him. “Shh, easy, Dad. It’s okay.”
Tears rolled down his weathered face. “I thought if you had to pay rent, you’d learn responsibility. I wanted you to be strong, to move forward. But maybe I did it all wrong.”
“You didn’t pay for my college because you were investing in your business, right?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded. “I planned to give the business to you, but… I lost everything, Nick.”
I closed my eyes, suddenly seeing everything from a different angle. Julie was right. He had his own struggles. And despite everything, he had only wanted to push me toward success.
“Dad,” I said, my voice softer now, “if it wasn’t for you, I might have stayed on that couch forever. You forced me to grow up. To work hard. And because of that, I have a great job, a home, a family.” I swallowed hard. “That’s thanks to you.”
His lips trembled. “I know I hurt you, son. Can you forgive me?”
Emotion swelled in my chest. “No, Dad… you should forgive me.”
For years, I had held onto my anger like a shield. But in that moment, it shattered. I took a deep breath and felt something inside me shift—something lighter, freer. I finally understood forgiveness.
“I’ve carried this anger for so long, Dad,” I whispered. “But now, I’m done.”
I stood up and held out my hand. “Let’s go home. We have a lot to talk about.”
He hesitated, then grasped my hand tightly. “Thank you, son. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”
A tear slipped down my cheek. “I love you too, Dad.”
Then, just as we were about to leave, I smiled. “Oh, and by the way… you’re going to be a grandfather.”
His eyes widened. “Wait—what?! Julie’s pregnant?!”
I nodded, and for the first time in years, my father laughed.
Lesson of the story: We never know the struggles our parents face. They make mistakes, just like we do. Sometimes, we need to hear their side before judging them. And above all, forgiveness isn’t just about the other person—it’s about setting ourselves free.
