Ever since I was a very young girl, my mother and I lived by ourselves. As long as I can remember, I’ve been told that my father had died a long time ago, but now I know that wasn’t true. He was alive that whole time, and he had abandoned my mother and me. My mother finally told me the truth, as she lay dying. Even now, when people ask me about my father, I say I don’t have one. I tell them, I don’t even consider myself his daughter… if I met him now, I wouldn’t accept any excuses. I won’t forgive him as long as I live. And why should I? He knows nothing what my mother and I went through—how we both suffered when mother was sick… or the way she died. That’s why… I swore when I met him I would make sure he understood. I swore I’d finally belt him one no matter what. I had it all planned, but…

This isn’t fair. I can’t do anything to you now, not if you’re like this. 

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