I raised him like my own, but he always disliked me and only spoke to me when he needed money. Yesterday, he asked me to pay for his summer vacation. I refused. He slammed his door so hard the picture frames rattled.
For years, I’d tried to earn his love—late-night homework help, football games, birthday surprises. But to him, I was never “Dad.” Just the man who paid the bills.
Feeling disrespected, I broke down his door—not out of anger, but heartbreak. I told him, “I’ve given you everything I could—time, love, and opportunities your real father never did. But love isn’t a transaction, and I won’t buy your respect anymore.”
He glared at me, silent. I walked away, heart heavy but strangely free.
This morning, I found a note on the kitchen table. It read:
“Sorry for yesterday. I didn’t realize how much you’ve done for me. I’ll try to be better.”
It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Maybe love takes time to be seen, even when it’s been there all along.
Sometimes, the hardest part of being a parent isn’t the sacrifice—it’s loving a child who hasn’t yet learned what love really means. ❤️
