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MidReal Story
My Father's Woman
Scenario:Why Did My Mother Abandon Me?
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Kane Thompson
He is a young man struggling to understand and cope with his parents' divorce and his mother's abandonment. He is emotional,introspective,and resilient. Kane recalls the happy family he once was before his parents' bitter divorce,which left him feeling abandoned by his mother. He struggled with these emotions but found solace in his grandparents and father. Kane eventually reconciled with his mother as they both dealt with their past and began rebuilding their relationship.
Kane's Father
He is Kane's supportive father who provided stability during a time of upheaval. He is caring,patient,and reliable. After the divorce,Kane's father maintained a close bond with him despite the circumstances. He consistently reached out to Kane and remained a steady source of comfort. He never gave up on the possibility of seeing his son again and ultimately welcomed Kane back into his life when they reunited.
Kane's Grandparents
They are Kane's loving grandparents who played a significant role in his life after his parents' divorce. They are nurturing,supportive,and comforting. The grandparents provided Kane with a sense of family and stability that was lacking for a while. They cared for him deeply and helped bridge the gap left by his mother's absence. Their home became a haven for Kane during his turbulent youth,and they continued to love and support him through it all.
"Why did my mother abandon me?"
I asked the universe one night as I stared up at the stars.
As a child, I never got the answer to that, but as an adult, I did.
When I was eight years old, my parents had a fight.
It wasn't just a normal fight, but one that changed my life forever.
They yelled and screamed at each other for hours.
The fight was so bad that it shook the entire house.
The fight was about my father's infidelity, and it was the last straw for my mother.
She packed her bags the next day and left.
My father told me that she went back to her parents' house in another state, but that he would take care of me.
I didn't know what to make of it all, so I just nodded.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months.
I waited for my mother to come back home, but she never did.
I would call her every weekend, but she would promise to come visit me the next weekend.
That kept happening for a year until I finally realized that she wasn't coming back.
I was devastated.
I didn't know how to process all of it, so I became depressed.
I sit at my desk, staring at the phone number I've dialed a thousand times before.
My hands tremble as I punch in each digit, remembering all those weekend calls that led to broken promises.
The room feels smaller, and I grip the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white.
The familiar ring tone echoes in my ear - once, twice, three times.
I rehearse what I'll say, the words I've held back for years.
My throat tightens as I hear a click on the other end.
Her voice, soft and uncertain, answers.
"Hello?"
"Mom, it's me," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
There's a pause, and then she responds, "I knew this day would come."
"Why did you leave and never come back?" I ask, desperation creeping into my tone.
The line crackles with static, and I hear her draw a shaky breath.
I grip the phone tighter, my knuckles white against the plastic.
She clears her throat and begins to speak.
"Do you remember that night when you were eight years old? The night when your father and I had that huge screaming match?"
"Yes," I reply, my voice trembling.
"I remember. You both were yelling at each other, and there were broken plates all over the kitchen floor."
"That was the night everything changed," she says, her voice filled with regret.
"Do you know what we were fighting about?"
I hesitate, unsure if I want to know the truth.
But my curiosity gets the better of me.
"No, I don't," I admit.
"It was about your father's infidelity," she explains, her voice cracking.
"I had discovered that he was having an affair with a woman from his office. I confronted him, and he denied it at first, but then he admitted it."
I can hear the pain in her voice as she recounts that night.
"I was so angry and hurt that I didn't know what to do. Your father tried to calm me down, but I couldn't be calmed. I felt betrayed and alone."
"What happened next?" "He told me that he was sorry, but that he couldn't leave the other woman," she continues.
"He said that he loved her and that he wanted to be with her. He said that he would take full custody of you if I left."
My heart sinks as I listen to her words.
"Why didn't you fight for me?" "Because I knew that your father would win," she replies, her voice filled with sadness.
"He had money and power on his side. And besides, he had proof of my gambling addiction. He threatened to use it against me if I fought for custody."
I feel a lump form in my throat as she speaks.
"I didn't want to lose you," she says, her voice breaking.
"But I knew that I couldn't fight against your father's wealth and influence. So, I made a difficult decision."
"What decision?"
I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I decided to leave," she replies, her voice filled with regret.
"I packed my bags and walked out of the house without looking back. And then...and then your father paid me to stay away." My heart stops for a moment as her words sink in.
"He paid you?"
I ask incredulously.
"Yes," she admits, her voice filled with shame.
"Yes," she replies, her voice filled with regret.
"He gave me a large sum of money to leave and never come back. And I took it."
I sink into my bedroom chair, the weight of her words crashing down on me.
The framed photo on my desk, the three of us at the beach, smiling and happy, now feels like a cruel joke.
My hands tremble as I touch the glass, remembering how Dad would take me for ice cream every Friday, telling me Mom just needed time.
The same Dad who paid her to disappear.
I think of all the birthday cards she sent, knowing she accepted money to stay away.
The room spins as years of memories twist into lies.
I hang up the phone, realizing that some truths are more painful than the lies they replace.
I sit in my darkened bedroom, staring at the phone I just hung up.
The beach photo catches my eye again, and I slam it face-down on the desk.
Standing up, I pace the floor, my mother's words echoing in my head.
Each step brings fresh waves of anger - at Dad for his affair and manipulation, at Mom for choosing money over me, at myself for believing their lies.
My hands clench into fists as I remember every Father's Day card, every "Mom just needs time" conversation.
The walls feel like they're closing in.
I need air, I think, grabbing my jacket and heading for the door.
Just as I reach for the handle, my phone buzzes with a new message.
It's from Dad: "We need to talk."