His tall frame, dark brown hair, and a trimmed beard, all tied together in a navy blue suit. The same suit I remember picking up in multiples at the dry cleaners every week on my way home from school.
But the sight of him alone isn’t what knocks the breath from my lungs. It’s the same hands that once dried my tears as a little girl, now clasped, as if it were the mostnatural thing in the world, with another young girl who’s definitely not me, looking less than ten.
Or maybe it’s the smile on his face directed at the tall woman beside him? The woman with short black hair and warm tan skin. She’s dripping in wealth—enough that it’s noticeable from where I stand. Her Prada handbag accompanied by layers and stacks of gold jewelry. I couldn’t miss the overzealous rock on her ring finger if I tried.
And trust me, I’d be perfectly content living life without that vision.
The entire picture before me, if I’m being honest.
One moment, I can’t convince myself to look his way, and the next, I can’t look elsewhere. Thankfully, I’m out of their line of sight, concealing my lingering.
I feel like I’ve seen a ghost.
Because I have. It’s been twelve years since he left us. My mom and I. Twelve years since the man who was supposed to love me forever and commit his life to protecting his daughter, broke the bond we could have had.
There’s mydad. After all these years…
With a new family at his side. A wife and a daughter. It’s like he copy and pasted the same life he had before. Except, we were never wealthy the way he clearly is now. Not even close. I remember his automotive business just beginning to pick up speed. As far as I knew, we were comfortable. We always had food on the table, and I never went without.
Hurt I never knew possible settles in my chest. My stomach.
Hell, I feel disappointment everywhere.
What was so wrong with me that my own father didn’t see me worth sticking around for? Or my mom? All we ever did was love him. Was that not enough for him?
Because what makes a father abandon his child? Only to turn around and have another.
Humiliation hits me. I’ve had years to process his absence. And I have. But I think in the back of my head, I always hoped and prayed it was for a good reason. Maybe that’s my lack of life experience, and the genuine benefit I often give people. I want to believe goodness still exists in humankind even after they’ve hurt you.
But this new development changes things. It makes his absence inexcusable, not that it ever was excused, but now there’s no justifiable reason for his betrayal. It only serves as confirmation of what I knew all along—I can’t depend on anyone. Let alone a man of power and wealth.
Because there was never a permanent work trip hehadto go on. Never a family member hehadto care for elsewhere. And it was never a vacation he’d return to us from with open arms and love in his heart.
No. Because all I see is someone who wanted what they didn’t have. Another woman. Another life. A new family to create and build with someone else.Somewhere else.
His wealth sticks out like a sore thumb. The grandest of lives he’s given both his daughter and wife. He’s staying in this hotel, for fuck’s sake. Things really have changed since he left. I remember how often he worked, he and my mom screaming more times than not over him never being home. Never making dinnertime and always working. Trying his best to work hard and give us the “best life.”
The hope I once had in him has imploded into pieces. All I feel is rage and hate. He is not my father. Although his face has aged, the presence I always remember him commanding in a room has not.
I think my soul knew he was here. It took a hit before I faced him.
And now, my admiration and belief in men like him is eternally depleted. I’ve got nothing left.
I never pictured my quick turnaround trip to Key West to be the same moment in time my adult life shifts.
The moment I found my estranged father again.
But here we are. My mind doesn’t give two shits about the worthless one-night stand I just entertained, or the coffee date I promised Betsy and Kimber I’d meet them for. Today, more than ever, I’m grateful for my best friend’s lack of planning, not giving me a specific time to meet her.
I don’t have it in me to chat and gossip.
The sickness I anticipated feeling if I ever saw him again feels like a gunshot wound to my spirit. An ache in my bones with repercussions that shake my heart to its core.
He’s a fucking coward, and I hate him for it.
Ever since he left us, all we’ve done is struggle. Struggle to make ends meet. Struggle to make every second count because the bills were overdue. Struggle because Mom had to work second shift at the hospital, or at times her second job, just to pay for my soccer uniform or a field trip fee.
To think we could have lived a more comfortable life makes me physically ill.
