One afternoon, my father called me into his room; he said there was something serious we needed to discuss. To be honest, worry gnawed at me. When I stepped into the sitting room, a woman was waiting there.
My family has always revolved around my father, the man who raised me, looked after me, and never once let me down. My mother left us not long after I was born, and my dad chose never to remarryperhaps afraid of being hurt again. Life hasnt always shown him kindness, and I longed to grow up quickly so I could help shoulder his burdens and give back some of the loyalty and care hed given me.
Given the state of our finances, I started working when I was fifteenwriting articles for the local papers. After three years of that, I secured a better job, and a few years down the line, I landed an office position. That job let me become independentI could look after myself and make sure my father never wanted for anything.
That day, when Dad called me in for a serious talk, I felt a prickling unease. In the sitting room sat this woman, whom, according to Dad, was my mother.
The moment she saw me, she broke down in tears, apologising and trying to pull me into an embrace. But I couldnt bring myself to let her hold me. I gently untangled myself from her arms and left the room in silence, leaving my father and her behind.
I decided then and there that my father could handle things in whatever way felt right to him. I couldnt forgive someone who abandoned my father and me without a second thought, and who hadnt even bothered to wish me a happy birthday in all those years gone by.
