I never expected life to turn out this way. Three years ago, if you’d told me I’d be estranged from my father and writing this, I would’ve laughed. Back then, my life seemed simple.
It all started with two pink lines. At 25, I was in love with Lucas, a quiet carpenter. He wasn’t flashy, but he was kind and thoughtful. I knew my dad wouldn’t approve.
When I told him I was pregnant and wanted to marry Lucas, my dad’s response was cold. He told me that if I went through with it, I wouldn’t be his daughter anymore. Hurt and angry, I left home and moved in with Lucas, cutting ties with my father.
Life with Lucas was hard. We struggled, but we made it work. After having triplets, things slowly improved. Lucas’s carpentry business grew, and we bought a home.
Then, my father called. He offered me a second chance to return to him, promising a better life for my children. I was torn but stood firm. Our life was enough. He came to visit, and when he saw we weren’t struggling, he begged me to return. But I refused.
Later, he came back, broken. He apologized, admitting he was wrong. We talked, and I forgave him. For the first time in years, he met his grandchildren, and I saw him for the first time as a man who regretted his decisions.
“Grandpa’s here now,” he said, tears in his eyes.
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