I had lived my entire life without a father. It wasn’t that I didn’t have memories of him, but they were all from when I was very young.
He had left when I was just a toddler, and all I had were the fragmented recollections of a man with a rough laugh and a warm hug.
I often asked my mother what had happened, but she would only shake her head and tell me that life didn’t always go the way we expected.
Over the years, my thoughts on my father grew more distant, not because I wanted to forget him, but because it became clear he wasn’t coming back.
My mother, although sad at times, never spoke ill of him. But her silence spoke volumes.
I often wondered if I would ever get to know him again.
If he would ever come back into my life, or if I was meant to live the rest of my life with the void he left behind.
I had created a life for myself—a life full of love from my mom, my friends, and later, my own family.
But there was always that nagging feeling that something was missing, that there was a piece of me that would remain incomplete as long as he was absent.
Then, one rainy afternoon, I got the call.
It was from a number I didn’t recognize, and at first, I was reluctant to pick up.
But something urged me to answer, and when I did, I heard a voice that made my heart skip a beat.
“Is this Lucy?”
The voice was deep and familiar, and yet foreign. For a moment, I couldn’t place it. Then the realization hit me like a wave.
“Dad?” I whispered, my voice trembling.
There was a long pause before the voice on the other end responded, “It’s me, Lucy. Your father.”
My heart was pounding in my chest, my mind racing. After twenty years, I couldn’t believe it.
My father, the man who had walked out of my life before I even understood what that meant, was finally reaching out to me.
“I know this is sudden,” he said, his voice soft and apologetic.
“I’ve thought about you every day. But I didn’t think I had the right to come back. Not after everything I did.”
My mind was a whirlwind of emotions. I didn’t know how to feel. Was I angry? Relieved? Confused?
“How… how could you just leave?” I asked, my voice cracking. “You weren’t there for me. For Mom. You left us alone.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “And I’m so sorry, Lucy. But there’s something you need to know.
The reason I left—it wasn’t because I didn’t love you. It wasn’t because I wanted to leave you behind. It was because of what happened to me.”
I sat down, clutching the phone tightly in my hand as I braced myself for whatever explanation he had to offer.
I didn’t know if I was ready for it, but I knew I had to hear him out.
“I was diagnosed with a serious illness right after I left,” he began.
“It wasn’t something anyone could see. At first, I thought it would pass, but it didn’t.
It was a mental illness, and it made me do things I didn’t understand. I wasn’t in the right state of mind.
I couldn’t be the father you needed me to be, and I didn’t want to hurt you, so I left.”
I could feel my heart sinking, a heavy ache settling deep in my chest. “But why didn’t you ever reach out? Why didn’t you try to explain?”
He took a deep breath before continuing. “I didn’t want you to see me like that.
I didn’t want you to think your father was broken. I thought it was better to stay away.
I didn’t want to drag you into my mess, Lucy. I thought I was protecting you, but now I know that was the wrong choice.”
I sat there in stunned silence, processing his words. The man I had always believed to be selfish, the one who had abandoned us without a second thought, had actually been battling something much bigger than I could have ever imagined.
The truth was heartbreaking, and yet, I couldn’t bring myself to fully hate him.
“So, after all these years, why now?” I asked, my voice trembling. “What changed?”
“I’ve been in therapy,” he explained. “I’ve been working through my issues, and for the first time, I feel like I can actually face what I’ve done.
I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Lucy, but I just wanted you to know the truth. I’ve missed you every day of my life.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “I don’t know what to say,” I whispered.
“I don’t know if I can forgive you, but I do want to understand. I want to know more.”
He sighed, relieved. “I’ll be here whenever you’re ready. I know I don’t have the right to ask, but if you’ll give me a chance, I’d like to get to know you again. If you want that, of course.”
Tears filled my eyes as I processed everything he had just told me.
My father, the man I’d resented for years, wasn’t a villain after all. He was someone who had suffered in silence, someone who had made a choice he believed was for the best, even if it had torn us apart.
I wasn’t sure what the future would hold. I didn’t know if I could forgive him right away, or if I ever would.
But for the first time in years, I felt like I had the chance to make a decision for myself—whether or not to let him back into my life, and on my terms.
The truth was painful, but it also opened the door for healing. I didn’t know how long it would take, but I was willing to try.