As a Child, I Longed to Know My Father—Growing Up in Care Made His Absence Seem ‘Normal’. At 14, I Met the Father of My Children and Didn’t Even Consider Searching for My Own. Life Simply Moved On. Years Later, After a Separation, Fate Led Me to Discover My Father Living in a Small English Village—Thanks to a Chance Encounter with a Client. Meeting Him Brought Overwhelming Joy as I Tried to Make Up for Lost Time: Outings, Gifts, and Love, Regardless of What He Had. He Confided His Loneliness—His Children in the Village Resent Any Woman Near Him, Thinking They’re After His Money. I Met the Woman He Loved—a Humble, Hardworking Companion—But His Children Threatened, Insulted, and Called the Police on Her. She Explained His Wealth Was the Reason No One Was Allowed Close. Rumours Began: I Was Here to Take Everything, Even Though I Didn’t Carry His Surname. He Insisted I Take It—A Decision That Escalated Conflict. My Bond with His Wife Strengthened. I Secretly Arranged Their Wedding, Angering My Father’s Other Children Further. I Told Them He Deserved Happiness, But Tensions Made Every Visit Harder. When I Invited Them on a Trip, His Wife Revealed a Painful Truth: My Father Wasn’t Poor, But His Money Was Controlled by His Children. I Urged Him to Enjoy His Life, but He Said He Wasn’t Allowed. After Marriage, Bigger Arguments Ensued as His Wife Asked Him to Contribute More. He Was Generous with Estranged Children—But Tight-Fisted with the Woman Who Cared for Him. In Time, Their Marriage Fell Apart. Now, My Father Lives Alone, Supporting Distant Daughters Who Only Call for Money. The Woman Who Loved Him Is Gone. I No Longer Feel the Same—Finding Him Was Once a Dream Come True, but Now It’s as If He’s No Longer There at All.

As a child, I was always curious about who my father was. I grew up in a boarding school, and over time, his absence simply became my normal. At fourteen, I met the father of my children, and at that age I wasnt particularly bothered about seeking out my own father. Life, quite simply, went on.

Some years later, my relationship broke down, and it was only thenalmost without really searchingthat fate seemed to guide me towards him. I had set up my own small business, and one day a client stopped by. As we chatted, I naturally confided that Id never met my dad. To my surprise, he offered to help. Before long, we tracked my father down in a village in the English countryside, where hed spent his entire life.

When I finally met him, it was a feeling I cant quite put into words. An overwhelming joy washed over me. I began making plans to spend more time with himdays out together, regular phone calls, small, thoughtful gestures. I bought him new clothes, treated him to meals, and paid for our trips, whether or not he had any money to hand. He always looked a bit dishevelled and down, and I felt compelled to make up for all the lost years.

He confided that he was lonely and mentioned that although he had children in the village, they wouldnt let him have a companion, believing that any woman who got close to him must be after his money. I asked him to introduce me to the woman he cared for, and, after some hesitation, he did. She was a modest, hardworking lady who genuinely cared for him, and her kindness was plain to see. Sadly, my fathers children resented her. They insulted her, involved the police, and generally made life difficult at every turn.

When I asked her why, she explained that my father owned several houses, had land, and savings in the bank. His children wouldnt let anyone near him for fear someone else might claim what they believed was theirs.

Thats when the gossip began. Soon, people were saying that Id only reappeared to take everything from him. I didnt even share his surname, but he insisted I take it. I was reluctant; I didnt want the hassle, but eventually, he told me it was his wish, and I agreed. From that moment, the criticism grew louder and the conflicts became open.

My relationship with his partner grew stronger through it all. I even suggested they quietly marry, which they did. This only made his children angrierwith him and with me. I told them plainly that their father had every right to be happy. Their marriage had its ups and downs, but once, when the three of us went away togetherI usually only travelled with my fatherhis wife asked how much I would contribute towards the trip. I replied that, as ever, I would pay for everything when travelling with him.

Thats when she told me something that shook me deeply: things werent at all as Id thought. My father had always been financially comfortable, which is why his children controlled him. They didnt let him spend on himself, whether it be on clothes or small pleasures. Id always assumed he was short of cash because he lived in a half-finished house and seemed so deprived, but in reality his assets were managed by others.

From then on, I encouraged him to enjoy the rewards of his hard work. But he said his children wouldnt allow it. After the wedding, his wife urged him to contribute moretowards the house, food, and daily costs. Each time she asked, hed snap, only giving in after much fuss and usually with a row. She told me every detail, and it all sounded perfectly fair to me.

One day, while we were together, his wife asked him to buy lunch for her father. He snapped, telling her to pay for it herself, grumbling that it was always the same story, and another argument flared. I stood up for her. I asked how he would feel if my husband refused to provide a meal for his father. I told him it wasnt right to treat a woman who cares, cooks, washes, and stands by him, so unfairly. He replied that he was just tired of always being asked for money at home.

Thats when a painful truth hit me: my father, who was generous with his childrenwho only contacted him for his money and never for carewas miserly with the woman who actually looked after him.

Eventually, his marriage fell apart. Now, he lives alone. One daughter supposedly looks after him, but in reality he supports her, her husband, and their children. The others call him when it suits them, issuing instructions, and he sends them money with no hesitation. As for the woman who stood by him, he always refused her.

I am not the same with him anymore. I love him, but not as I once did. I no longer invite him on trips, and we barely speak. Unless I ring, he doesn’t call. I cant bring myself to be the daughter I once strove to be. It saddens me to admit that, after all those years of searching and imagining, having finally found him, it now feels as though hes a stranger again.

In the end, Ive learned this: giving someone your love and effort is meaningful only if its reciprocated with kindness and respect. Sometimes, love must mean letting go, even of the dreams we long cherished most.