I was raised by a single mother—a woman whose strength held our fragile world together until it finally broke. She died when I was just 15 years old. My mom worked as a private tutor, and life was brutally difficult for us. She struggled every single day to provide for my two younger siblings and me.
Things grew worse when she fell seriously ill. She stayed home for weeks, fighting a sickness she could barely understand. Although the school paid her for two months despite her absence, they eventually replaced her. They said they needed someone “more active.” That decision marked the beginning of our darkest days.
My mother was suffering from Syphilis, a disease that destroys the body if left untreated. She didn’t contract it by carelessness—she got it from my father. A man who was a habitual cheat. A man who moved from woman to woman without guilt. A man whose infidelity poisoned my mother’s body, her heart, and eventually, our entire family.
Then one day, he met another woman. And just like that, the love he promised my mother evaporated. He kicked her—and us, his own children—out of the house. All because the new woman demanded it. My mother had to raise us alone, sick and broke, yet determined to keep us alive.
There was a time when I desperately needed new shoes for school. My mother didn’t have the money, and after battling with her pride, she asked me to call my father for help. Phone calls back then were expensive, but I obeyed. I called him repeatedly for weeks.
Every week, he told me to “call back.”
Four weeks of begging. Four weeks of hope dying.
Then one day, he simply said, “Keep waiting,” and cut the call.
That single moment shattered me. But I couldn’t bear to add more pain to my mother’s already bleeding heart. I kept everything inside.
Then something miraculous happened. One of my classmates—son of a high-ranking government official—noticed my torn sneakers. Without asking, he quietly handed me a brand new pair of school shoes. It was the purest act of kindness I had ever experienced.
When I got home wearing those shoes, my mother’s face lit up. She thought my father had bought them. When I told her the truth—that a friend had given them to me—her expression changed. She insisted on knowing everything. And when I finally told her how my father treated me, she broke down and cried like I had never seen before.
She hugged me tightly and said,
“Terrence, God will bless you—with or without your father. But listen carefully: you will succeed, and God will honor you. But if you ever forgive that father of yours, you are as much a dog as he is!”
My mother died just months after that. She was only 36.
After her death, life collapsed even further. My sisters were sent to the village to stay with grandma. They dropped out of school and depended on farming. Those years were filled with hunger, shame, and struggles I don’t even want to revisit for the sake of my mental health.
But God eventually remembered me.
The boy who gave me his shoes told his parents about my situation. That family took me into their home. They loved me like their own son. They became the parents I always prayed for.
I worked hard. I earned a full scholarship to study abroad. I built my life. I got married. I have a child. I succeeded—just as my mother prophesied.
Not once did I think of contacting my biological father. He never looked for me either. He moved away. It was as if we never existed.
But three weeks ago, after fifteen years, he suddenly appeared at my door.
He has fallen into misfortune.
The woman he gave his family up for left him.
The pregnancy he thought was his wasn’t even his child.
And now he is sick—desperately in need of money for surgery.
He wants forgiveness.
He wants help.
He wants a son he rejected to become the savior he never was.
But the truth is, I lost my father a long time ago.
A part of me still hates him deeply.
Seeing him only reminds me of my mother’s cries…
Of her pain…
Of her death at just 36.
I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know how to feel.
All I know is that the man standing at my door now is a stranger.
A stranger begging for the love he never gave.
And I don’t know if I can forgive him.
No comments:
Post a Comment