“Do you even realize? I loved her! She was my youth, my everything! And now she’s your wife. Do you understand what this does to me?!”
Dad froze, his eyes turning red, but his tone remained calm.
“I didn’t know. If I had known… maybe everything would have turned out differently. But Daniel, you have to understand—teenage love is just a memory. Now Sophia and the baby need a family.”
I laughed bitterly. His words cut through me like a knife.
The next day, Sophia came looking for me. Her voice trembled, her eyes searching mine.
“Daniel… I’m sorry. I know you cared about me once, but we were too young. I cared about you too, but I never thought we’d have a future together. Life took its course and somehow led me to your father. I never meant to hurt you.”
I clenched my fists, my throat was tight:
“You say you didn’t want to hurt me, yet you chose my father. Do you know how unbearable that is?”
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she protectively wrapped her arms around her swollen belly. Looking at her, I felt torn—anger and pity colliding within me.
That night I opened the old drawer that held my mother’s last letter. Her familiar handwriting read:
“Daniel, I only hope you live a life of kindness and learn to love and respect your family. If one day your father remarries, please forgive him. Don’t let him grow old alone.”
Tears soaked the paper. My heart broke, but her words gave me strength.On my wedding day, I stood at the gate. Dad wore a simple suit. Sophia, in a flowing white dress, gently placed her hands on her stomach. My chest twisted painfully. I wanted to step inside, to scream, “No!”, but my feet felt rooted to the spot.
Instead, I left a letter on the door:
“I can’t bless this, but I can’t hate you either. I’m leaving. I hope you find happiness.”
I turned and walked down the road. Wedding music echoed behind me, each note pressing against my heart like a stone.
My youth, my family. Everything collapsed in an instant.
“Daniel, come home for the weekend, I have something important to tell you.” My father’s voice was low, calm, and unusual.
I felt uneasy. Was it something important? Dad rarely spoke and almost never called, unless it was to ask about my studies. I couldn’t sleep a wink that night.
On Saturday morning, I took the long bus back to my hometown. The old country road, the rows of trees, the dilapidated roofs—it all seemed strangely distant. As I entered the yard, the door opened…
Dad stood there. Beside him stood a woman. For a moment, I froze. My gaze drifted down to her belly—round, unmistakable—hiding a truth I couldn’t deny. My mouth trembled, and my chest tightened:
