I Ignored Dad’s Gifts after He Abandoned Us 17 Years Ago – When I Finally Opened One, I Rushed to Find Him Instantly

Dad left when I was one. Mom and I didn’t talk about him much; she never wanted to mention him. Growing up, I only had a vague understanding of the man who had walked out on us.

“He abandoned us,” my mom would say whenever I brought him up over the years.

But all in all, he had left Mom to pick up the pieces and raise me alone.

“I still think that it’s wild that he sends you birthday presents, Kelly,” my mother said when this year’s fancy box arrived.

They were always from him, and I never opened them. I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away either, so they went straight up into the attic, gathering dust.

“Kelly, don’t you want to open them?” my mother would randomly ask throughout the year, her eyes roaming to the ceiling so that I knew what she was talking about.

“No,” I would say. “My affection cannot be bought, Mom.”

Eventually, life moved on. I grew up, went to college, and started my own life, leaving the boxes untouched and unthought of.

Because really, what was the point?

Then, recently, completely out of the blue, I got a call from his other daughter.

“Yeah, your father has another wife and another daughter, Kelly,” my mother told me once. “It’s just one of those things, darling.”

I had forgotten about that tiny detail until the unexpected call.

“Hi, Kelly,” she said. “I’m Anna. I’m Bruce’s other daughter. I just wanted to let you know that our father is in the hospital. He’s in critical condition and he might not make it. Please, come and see him.”

“Anna,” I replied without any feeling. “Look, I’m sorry, but I don’t care. So, I won’t be coming.”

That evening, for reasons that I’m still not sure I understand, I went up to the attic. The birthday boxes were piled high in a corner, covered in years of neglect.

“Baby, why now?” my mother asked from the doorway.

“Because he’s sick, apparently. And his daughter doesn’t think that he’s going to make it. I guess I just want to see if he knows me at all.”

“Do your thing,” Mom said. “I’m going to make dinner.”

I picked the most recent box and took it down to my room. I sat on the bed, staring at it for a while. I didn’t know what to think or feel. Was there anything good about this? Did I have anything in common with this man?

Finally, I opened it.

Inside was a homemade necklace made of beautiful shells and pearls.

“Wow,” I whispered.

There was also a letter.

“Should I even read this?” I asked myself.

I unfolded the paper and began to read. The handwriting was shaky, almost illegible in places, but the words cut deep.

My Dearest Kelly,

I know that you despise me. And frankly, I don’t blame you. Every year I send you a gift, hoping that you’d open it, hoping that you’d read my letters.

Have you? You’ve never written back, so I have no idea.

But, sweet girl, I would understand if you never did. I deserve this and more. But I need to tell you something before it’s too late.

I’ve said it in other letters, but if you haven’t read them, then here’s the story once again.

You see, seventeen years ago, I was a different man. A foolish man. I drank. I gambled. I ignored my family, and I lost myself in a world that took me away from you and your mother.

I was gone for weeks, moving through bars and living with friends while your mother struggled at home.

During one of my absences, you and your twin sister fell ill. You both needed an operation, but we had no money. I had gambled it all away.

Your mother had to make a choice. And she could only save one of you. And she chose you because you had a better chance.

When I returned, I found out your sister had passed on. She was gone, and it was my fault.

So, I went to Alaska, and I worked on a fishing vessel, and sent money back for your treatment. But I couldn’t face you. Especially because every time I saw you, I would be reminded of your sister.

This is my last letter, Kelly. I’m sick. And I don’t have much time left.

I love you. I always have.

With all my love,

Dad.

By the time I finished reading, I was sobbing. I had a twin sister. She died because of him, our father. And yet, he had spent the rest of his life trying to atone for his mistakes.

The shame, the guilt, it all made sense. He had left to provide for me, to pay for my treatments, to give me a chance at life.

“Mom!” I called from the hallway. “I’m going to the hospital!”

I didn’t wait for a reply. Without a second thought, I grabbed my phone and called a taxi.

The ride to the hospital felt like an eternity. My heart was pounding, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts and emotions. When I finally arrived, I rushed to his room.

“Sorry, ma’am,” a nurse said as I peeked into my father’s room. “But who are you? Only family is permitted.”

“I’m his daughter,” I replied.

“Then, go on in. Your father is unconscious, and it’s likely that he won’t wake up. But we believe that he can hear you if you speak to him.”

I nodded, suddenly afraid.

“Go on, darling,” the nurse said. “Talk to him. Say your goodbyes.”

I stood by his bed, looking at the frail man who had been a ghost in my life. Tears streamed down my face as I took his hand in mine.

“I forgive you, Dad,” I said.

To my astonishment, his eyes fluttered open. He looked at me with tears in his eyes, his lips trembling as he struggled to speak.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Then came the flatline of the monitors around him.

Those were his last words. And my father passed away with a faint smile on his lips, holding my hand.

In that moment, all the anger and bitterness I had harbored for years melted away. And I felt a strange sense of peace, knowing that he had spent his life trying to make amends.

I went back home shortly after that.

“I read the letter,” she said. “Kelly, I should have told you about your sister.”

“Then why didn’t you?” I asked.

“Because it was easier to turn my grief into pain toward your father. It was easier to be angry than mourn the loss of a child. You two were only a year old when everything happened.”

I was silent for a moment.

“Do you hate me, darling?” my mother asked me.

“What?! No!” I replied. “I love you more than anything. And I’m sorry that you carried this loss by yourself all these years. I didn’t remember that I had a twin.”

“I made sure that you didn’t, Kelly,” she said.

“I wanted you to grow up without that loss, and that pain. I wanted you to be able to see the world for what it was. A place of opportunity, without loss tainting it.”

I smiled and nodded.

“I need to phone Anna now,” I told my mother. “I want to be a part of the funeral.”

“Of course,” my mother said. “I’ll make you some tea and toast. You need to eat.”

As I lay across my bed, I truly didn’t know what I felt. I just knew that my emotions were on overdrive and I wasn’t okay. But I knew that I would be. With time.

What would you have done?

If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |

At My Mother’s Funeral, I Met a Mysterious Man Who Looked Just like Me – What He Revealed Left Me Speech

When Elle’s mother passes away, she moves through the funeral in a daze. But then, she stumbles upon a man who closely resembles her. When he approaches her, he reveals that he is her biological father—who had been hidden away all this time. Elle doesn’t know whether she should tell her father and risk losing the only other parent she has ever known.

At my mother’s funeral, the heavy, stifling air seemed to compress around us. It was a tangible manifestation of the collective grief. The flames from the candles around the church created a glow that seemed to encompass us.

My mother was a well-known woman, and people loved her. It was evident in the crowd and the flowers that had kept showing up at our home, not to mention the casseroles of food that appeared on our countertops every day.

It was comforting, but it was also chaotic. My father and I didn’t know how to react to it.

“It’s just overwhelming, Elle,” my father said when we sat down to eat one of the casseroles the night before the funeral.

“I know, Dad,” I agreed. “But I’m torn between feeling grateful for the support and annoyed at the smothering.”

It felt wrong to admit, but I hated having all the people around us. It was just too much. My mother’s sisters kept trying to take care of me. One aunt had sat on my bed and tried to brush my hair, telling me all about how my mother loved my hair.

We hadn’t expected it, my father and I. Mom had been fine. She picked up a cold out of the ordinary as the seasons changed, and then everything escalated quickly.

When my mom had trouble breathing, we had to call an ambulance to take her to the hospital. But from there, her pressure dropped.

And she passed away.

Read the full story here.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.