Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 142664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 713(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 713(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
You couldn’t be at my sweet sixteen, my coming out ball, or my graduation because Mitzie needed you to fill in for all those occasions. You missed most, if not all, of the most important things in my life so you could play father to someone else’s child while I endured ridicule and laughter from my peers and Mitzie’s, who all knew what was going on.
You allowed that monster to torment me from the age of twelve to eighteen, and I bore it all in silence, not because I was weak or even scared. But because I was planning your demise with every breath I took.
The divorce, the hitman, and everything mentioned above are your fault and will always be your fault because you chose to have an affair and cheat on your wife and kids. Everything that came after that is on you.
Thanks for looking out for me and trying to protect me, as you see it, but this all began with you and your selfishness. I hope that two minutes of Helen’s (what I can only surmise is low-grade pussy) was worth it.
The last time we spoke, I didn’t yet know about Helen’s threats against Mom and me, but everything I said then still stands. You failed, and there is no going back.
I can never regain the years and experiences I lost because you were a selfish prick. I don’t care what you thought you were doing or how you feel; I don’t give a shit. I’m the child who was robbed of a childhood. I will never forgive you. You had no right.
Because of you, I had to relearn how to trust after years of living in the hell that you made. Because of you, my whole life has been tainted because there are no do-overs for the innocence you destroyed.
I didn’t know what I was going to say to you after I got over my mad, but as I sit here across from the man I married, a man I barely know, the thought of screwing someone else, of betraying him, makes me feel ill.
You knew Mom since you were both young; you were supposed to love her. How could you do it? What evil possessed you in that moment, when you unzipped your trousers, pulled down the zipper, did you remove your clothes?
As these things were happening, why was there no point in time that the love you were supposed to feel make you stop? I was your little girl, your little princess, but you didn’t care enough about me or the sons you were supposed to love, the woman you were supposed to cherish, to stop.
Do not contact me. If I want to see you or have any kind of relationship with you, I will be the one to reach out. You may tell Mom whatever you choose to, you will know better than me where her mind is at and if it’s strong enough for her to deal with me going no contact with you.
As for my relationship with her, I will handle that separately, you don’t need to speak on my behalf where that is concerned. If you still don’t understand, your sorry is not enough. Sorry does not erase the years of hurt and pain.
Sorry, will not return the years and moments I have lost, the moments you squandered for a few moments of release.
You…. failed. Goodbye!
“Hey-hey-hey, what’s the matter? Fuck!” I didn’t realize that I was crying and shaking until Garrett came around the table where we had been sitting enjoying the cool ocean breeze after lunch and lifted me onto his lap.
“What happened? Did someone say something to you?” I moved the phone where I had written the letter over to him, and he picked it up and read. Once he was done, he put the phone back on the table and wrapped his arms around me.
I felt safe, protected, and, dare I say, loved. All those emotions hit me like a brick to the solar plexus and I just released it all in a flood of tears. I cried out the pain and the hurt and the agony.
I let it all flow out of me with each tear that fell while my husband held me and rocked back and forth the way you would a child. There was a lump in my chest and a hole in my heart. The hole that has been there since the night a little girl watched her world crumble.
“What do you want to do?”
“What do you mean?” He’d sat there silently for the last ten minutes or so while I cried myself dry.
“About your father, what do you want me to do?”
“Nothing, I don’t understand.”
“Okay!”
I sat up to look at him. His face looked kind of off to me, and his eyes were cold. Oh, his jaw, he was clenching his teeth. I cupped his cheek with my hand and studied his eyes. “What’s wrong?”