My mother did everything in her power to prevent me from seeing my father after they divorced. But once my dad tricked me on the phone, and everything changed.
“I don’t want to see you ever again!” my mom yelled as my father got into the car and left our home forever. That was my earliest memory. Dad left when I was two years old after a huge fight with my mother.
They got divorced, and I didn’t see him for many years. As I got older, I realized that my mother was preventing me from seeing my father. “I want to visit Dad. Please!” I begged when I was ten years old.
“No! You can’t go see him. He’s busy with his new family and doesn’t want to see you,” she replied.
“I know that’s not true! You’re lying to me! I talk to him on the phone, and he wants to see me!” I cried, pleading with her to see my father.
“Don’t talk back to me, Alexandra! Your father left us and doesn’t deserve to have a relationship with you now,” Mom said. I thought that was unfair, but I was still just a child.
My dad and I kept in constant contact over the phone, but I really wanted to spend time with him, and I knew he wanted the same. However, Mom was an expert at getting her way.
As a teenager, I decided to go on my own to see him, and she called the cops on me. They picked me up before I could reach his house and drove me back home.
“The next time you try to disobey me, I will say that your father kidnapped you, and he will go to jail where he belongs!” she screamed at me when the cops left.
Back then, I thought she was doing the right thing for me, but as I grew up, I realized that it was pure selfishness on her part. I didn’t want to hang out with her or do anything. I also started rebelling at school. She drove a huge wedge between us, and I didn’t care anymore.
“Alexandra, do you want to go shopping with me?” she asked me one day. I was 17 years old and had grown to almost hate her.
“Nope,” I answered.
“How about the movies?”
“Nope.”
“Why don’t you want to do anything with me?” she whined.
“Really? You’re asking me that question? You know exactly why I treat you this way,” I said in a bored tone.
“I have done nothing to you! All the sacrifices I have made for you, and you’re so ungrateful!” Mom yelled once more.
“Yeah, ok. Close the door, please,” I added.
By then, I was immune to her tantrums and how she victimized herself to get away with things. I moved out as soon as I turned 18 and never looked back.
But seeing my dad wasn’t any easier. I had to work two jobs and go to school. He was also busy with work, and his second wife had just delivered twins by then. Neither of us had time, so we put it off.
I met with him on a Saturday afternoon at his house and met his wife. They showed me the twins, and we talked for a while. But it felt so awkward that I didn’t want to do it again. Maybe my mother had ruined any chance I had at a relationship with him.
We talked on the phone for a long time once a week. I asked about the twins and told him about my life. It wasn’t ideal, but it worked for us. Years went by this way. I didn’t hear of my mother until I was 29 years old.
“Hey, Alexandra,” she spoke on the phone tentatively.
“Oh, hey, Mom,” I answered, confused with her call.
“We haven’t talked in a long time. How are you?” she asked.
“I’m fine. How about you?” I replied. We chitchatted awkwardly for a few minutes, and then she got to the point.
“Listen, honey. I was hoping that we could work on mending our relationship. How does that sound?” Mom wondered.
“I don’t know. Are you going to apologize for everything?” I retorted.
“I…I still don’t think I did anything wrong. I was trying to protect you from being hurt like I was when you were little. But I understand that you felt differently,” she explained.
“So, you’re not apologizing?” I continued, tired of this conversation. She was never going to acknowledge her wrongs, and I had no time for that.
“Alexandra! I’m your mother. You haven’t talked to me in years! You’re so selfish!” she wailed, raising her voice.
“Ok, goodbye,” I said and hung up the phone. She tried calling me back, but I ignored her. I would not let her back into my life until she apologized.
Another year went by, and I received a strange call from my dad. He never called during working hours. “Alexandra! This is an emergency! Can you come to see me?” Dad said urgently through the phone.
“What? Dad? What’s going on?” I asked, worried.
“I sent you an address. Come quickly! This is a matter of life or death!” he told me and hung up.
I went to my boss, took a day off work, and ran to my car. But the address Dad gave me took me right to an amusement park close to his house.
“Hey, honey!” he smiled when I met him at the front gate.
“Dad! Why are we here? What’s the emergency?” I asked, confused.
“The emergency is that you and I never got to do all the fun things father and daughters do over the years. We have put off building a real relationship, and I don’t want to waste any more time. Let’s go have fun!” Dad explained.
“Can you go on the rides? I know you have had some health problems lately,” I said hesitantly.
“I’m fit as a fiddle. Come on!” he urged.
We spent the entire day at the park and talked about everything. I felt like a child for the first time in my life, and it was wonderful.
I also told him about my problems with Mom and how hard it was when she didn’t let me see him. “Your mother is complicated and full of pride. But she’s not evil. We didn’t work out, and she couldn’t take it,” he started.
“Yeah, I wished I could’ve lived with you,” I told him.
“Well, I was pretty lost for many years trying to figure things out. We might have hated each other. But here we are, and I think you should patch things up with her. Life is too short to hold grudges,” he said.
After that marvelous day at the park, we went to dinner. When I got home, I called Mom and told her everything I felt regarding my dad. How she hurt me back then by not letting me spend time with him and how fun our day had been. She cried and apologized to me for the first time. I felt like she understood, and we started talking more often.
Meanwhile, I grew closer to my dad and loved babysitting my twin half-siblings. We even took them to the amusement park for a fun day too.
I finally had the childhood I always wanted.
What can we learn from this story?
Divorce happens between couples, not with children. Alexandra’s mother didn’t understand that her father divorced her but wanted a relationship with their daughter.
Life is too short for grudges. Alexandra’s father is right. Sometimes, it’s better to forgive for your own sake. Let go of things that make you angry, and your mental health will improve.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
I Didn’t Tell My Husband’s Family I Speak Their Language, and It Helped Me Uncover a Shocking Secret about My Child…
I thought I knew everything about my husband—until I overheard a conversation between his mother and sister that shattered my world. When Peter finally revealed the secret he had been hiding about our first child, everything I believed in crumbled, leaving me questioning our entire relationship.
Peter and I had been married for three years. Our relationship had begun during a magical summer, where everything seemed to fall into place effortlessly. He was exactly what I’d been searching for—smart, funny, and kind. When we found out I was pregnant with our first child just months after getting together, it felt like fate.
Now, we were expecting our second child, and on the surface, our life seemed perfect. But things were not as they appeared.
I’m American, and Peter is German. In the early days, the cultural differences felt exciting. When Peter’s job relocated us to Germany, we moved there with our first child, thinking it would be a fresh start. But the transition wasn’t as smooth as I had hoped.
Germany was beautiful, and Peter was overjoyed to return home. But I struggled to adjust. I missed my family and friends, and Peter’s parents, Ingrid and Klaus, were cordial but distant. They didn’t speak much English, but I understood more German than they realized.
At first, I didn’t mind the language barrier. I thought it would help me learn and integrate better. But soon, I began to overhear unsettling comments.
Peter’s family visited often, especially his mother and sister, Klara. They would sit in the living room, chatting in German while I stayed busy in the kitchen or looking after our child. They seemed to forget that I could understand them.
“That dress doesn’t suit her at all,” Ingrid remarked one day, not bothering to lower her voice.
Klara smirked and added, “She’s gained so much weight with this pregnancy.”
I glanced down at my growing belly, feeling their words sting. I was pregnant, yes, but their judgment cut deep. Still, I remained silent. I didn’t want to confront them—at least not yet. I wanted to see just how far they would go.
One afternoon, though, I overheard something far more hurtful.
“She looks exhausted,” Ingrid said as she poured tea. “I wonder how she’ll manage with two kids.”
Klara leaned in and whispered, “I’m still not convinced that first baby is even Peter’s. He doesn’t look anything like him.”
I froze. They were talking about our son.
Ingrid sighed. “That red hair… it’s definitely not from our side of the family.”
Klara chuckled, “Maybe she hasn’t been completely honest with Peter.”
They both laughed softly, unaware that I had heard every word. I stood there, paralyzed. How could they even suggest something like that? I wanted to confront them, but I stayed silent, my hands trembling.
After the birth of our second baby, the tension only grew. Ingrid and Klara visited, bringing forced smiles and congratulations, but I could feel something was off. Their whispers and glances made it clear they were hiding something.
As I sat feeding the baby one afternoon, I overheard them talking in hushed tones.
“She still doesn’t know, does she?” Ingrid asked.
Klara laughed. “Of course not. Peter never told her the truth about their first baby.”
My heart stopped. What truth? What were they talking about? I felt my pulse race as panic washed over me. I had to know what they meant.
That night, I confronted Peter. I called him into the kitchen, my voice barely steady.
“Peter,” I whispered, “what haven’t you told me about our first baby?”
He froze, his face turning pale. For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then, with a heavy sigh, he sat down and buried his face in his hands.
“There’s something you don’t know,” he said, guilt written all over his face. “When you were pregnant with our first… my family pressured me to take a paternity test.”
I stared at him, struggling to comprehend his words. “A paternity test? Why would you need to do that?”
“They didn’t believe the baby was mine,” Peter explained, his voice breaking. “They thought the timing was too close to when you ended your previous relationship.”
My head spun. “So you took the test? Without telling me?”
Peter stood, his hands trembling. “It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you! I never doubted you. But my family wouldn’t let it go. They kept pushing me, and I didn’t know how to make them stop.”
“And what did the test say?” I demanded, my voice rising in panic.
Peter hesitated, his eyes filled with regret. “It said… I wasn’t the father.”
The room felt like it was collapsing around me. “What?” I whispered, barely able to breathe. “How could that be?”
Peter moved closer, desperate to explain. “I know you didn’t cheat on me. I know the baby is mine in every way that matters. But the test came back negative. My family didn’t believe me when I told them it had to be wrong.”
I stepped back, shaking. “So you’ve known this for years and never told me? How could you keep something like this from me, Peter?”
Peter’s face crumpled. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I knew it didn’t change anything for me. The test didn’t matter. I wanted to protect you from the pain and confusion. I didn’t want to lose you.”
Tears streamed down my face. “You should’ve trusted me,” I said, my voice trembling. “We’ve been raising him together, and you’ve been his father. We could’ve handled this together, but instead, you lied to me.”
Peter reached for my hands, but I pulled away. “I know,” he whispered. “I was scared. I didn’t want you to think I doubted you.”
I needed air. I walked outside into the cool night, hoping it would calm the storm raging inside me. How could he have kept this from me? How could he have known and said nothing?
For a few moments, I stared up at the stars, trying to make sense of it all. Despite everything, I knew Peter wasn’t a bad person. His family had pressured him, and he had made a terrible mistake. But he had always stayed by my side, and by our son’s side. He had lied, but out of fear, not malice.
After wiping away my tears, I knew I had to go back inside. We couldn’t leave things unresolved.
When I returned to the kitchen, Peter was sitting at the table, his face buried in his hands. He looked up when he heard me, his eyes red and swollen.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
It would take time for me to heal from this, but I knew we couldn’t throw away everything we’d built. We had a family, and despite the hurt, I still loved him.
“We’ll figure it out,” I said softly. “Together.”
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