When I confronted her that night, she told me that if I exposed her, she would drag us through a vicious custody battle, paint me as abusive, and ensure I never saw you again. She needed a villain for her story so she wouldn’t lose you.

I chose to be the villain. I packed my bags and let you believe I left for another woman, because I knew how much you loved your mother. You were a fragile thirteen-year-old girl, and you needed a hero. I couldn’t let you lose your mother, too.

So I let you hate me. I sat alone in the dust of the attic, clutching the fragile pages to my chest, and screamed until my voice gave out. My father wasn’t the man who broke our family. He was the man who sacrificed his own life, his reputation, and his relationship with his only daughter, just to protect my heart.

And I had spent my entire life punishing him for it.