For most of my childhood, I resented my dad—even though he was the only parent I had.
He raised me alone and worked nonstop, yet our life always felt like we were barely holding on. Money was tight. Every bill mattered. Every purchase was weighed. I grew up knowing exactly what we couldn’t afford, even when no one said it out loud.
At school, the difference was impossible to ignore. Friends showed off new phones, game consoles, and vacation photos. I learned how to smile and act like it didn’t bother me. Until one day, it did.
A friend wouldn’t stop talking about his brand-new iPad. Something inside me broke. I went home angry, embarrassed, and hurting—and I took it out on the one person who didn’t deserve it. I told my dad he had failed me. That he hadn’t given me enough. I watched his face fall, saw the hurt he tried to hide, and still… I didn’t apologize.
A week later, my world stopped.
My dad had a heart attack.
I rushed to the hospital, fear twisting my stomach, replaying my words over and over like a punishment I couldn’t escape. While I sat in the hallway, a man approached me. He introduced himself as my father’s boss. When he realized who I was, his tone changed.
Continue reading on next page…