The phone rang on my 20th birthday. I didn’t recognize the number, and normally I would’ve ignored it. But something made me answer.
“Lina,” the voice said. “It’s your father.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. After 17 years of silence, he wasn’t dead like I’d convinced myself to believe. He was alive. And he was calling me.
My father disappeared when I was only three. Back then, my parents seemed happy. My mom told me how he used to bring her flowers, make her laugh, and hold me proudly at school events. We looked like a normal family.
But everything changed when Mom got pregnant with my younger sister, Stacey. He became distant, cold, and unreachable. He stopped answering calls, stayed out late, and ignored every moment that should have mattered. When Mom gave birth, he didn’t even come to the hospital. She waited alone, holding her newborn, while other families left together.
When she finally came home, his belongings were gone. No goodbye. No explanation. Just gone.
From that moment on, Mom became everything — provider, protector, and parent. She worked double shifts, came home exhausted, and still found the strength to help with homework and tuck us into bed. She never complained. But even with her love, there was always a space inside me shaped like a father who never stayed.
And now, after 17 years, he wanted to meet.
We agreed to meet at Tony’s diner the next afternoon. I spotted him immediately. He looked older, worn down, dressed in a faded blazer. But his smile was eager — almost too eager.
He told me he’d changed. He claimed he’d struggled with drinking, made mistakes, and now wanted another chance. I asked him why he left. Where he’d been. Why he never paid child support.
He avoided every question.
Then he leaned forward and revealed the truth.
He said he wanted to start a food truck business. He said he needed someone to believe in him. Then he asked if I had access to student loan money.
That’s when it hit me. He hadn’t come back for love. He hadn’t come back for closure.
He came back for money.
I pretended to consider it and told him I’d get back to him. But the moment I left, I called my mom and told her everything. She was furious — not for herself, but for me. After everything he’d done, he still thought he could use us.
That night, we gathered every record she had. Bills, receipts, school expenses — proof of 17 years she raised us alone. Every sacrifice she made without his help.
Then we met with a lawyer.
She told us what he didn’t know — abandoning us didn’t erase his responsibility.
Two weeks later, I arranged another meeting with him. He arrived confident, expecting cash.
Instead, I handed him an envelope.
He opened it and froze.
“You’ve been served,” I said calmly. “That’s a court summons for unpaid child support.”
Months later, the court ruled in our favor. He was ordered to pay over $86,000 in unpaid support and interest — every dollar he owed my mom for raising us alone.
My mom cried when she heard the decision — not from revenge, but from relief. After all those years, she finally had justice.
As for me and my sister, we made our choice. He had his chance to be our father. He walked away.
And now, we’re walking away too.
