One day, Dad called me into his room: he said we needed to talk about something serious. Honestly, I was a bit worried. In the living room, a woman was waiting for me.

My family has always revolved around my father, who raised me, looked after me, and gave me unwavering support. After my birth, my mother walked out on us, and my dad chose not to remarry, perhaps out of fear of being hurt again. Life hasnt always treated my father kindly, and I wanted to grow up quickly so I could help him with everything he had to manage as a responsible man.

Because our finances were tight, I started working when I was just 15. I wrote articles for local newspapers, and after three years, I managed to land a better job. A few years later, I found an office job which let me become independent, providing for both myself and my dad. One day, my father called me in for what he described as a serious conversation. I felt a bit uneasy, not quite sure what to expect. When I walked into the living room, waiting for me was a woman who, according to my father, was my mother.

As soon as she saw me, she burst into tears, apologising and trying to hug me, but I couldnt bring myself to embrace her. Gently, I pulled away and left without saying a word, leaving the two of them alone. I decided to let my father handle the situation as he thought best. I cannot forgive someone who abandoned me and my dad so carelessly and didnt even bother to wish me a happy birthday all those years.