Chapter 4 - The Lie About My Father
My father’s name was Daniel Carter.
Growing up, I knew only a few things about him.
He liked old rock music.
He taught me how to ride a bike.
He made terrible pancakes shaped like animals.
And when I was eight years old, he disappeared.
My mother told me Daniel had moved away after their divorce. She said he had a new life and did not want contact. Franklin repeated the story often after he entered our lives.
“Your father walked away,” he would say whenever I complained about anything.
“He knew you were too much work.”
I hated how easily those words had become part of me.
Even after I stopped believing Franklin, some part of me still believed I was the reason people left.
Officer Ruiz took the text messages seriously.
“They may be an attempt to intimidate you,” she said. “But we should also investigate the claim about your father.”
My mother sat beside me at the table, pale and tense.
“There’s nothing to investigate,” she said.
I looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
She avoided my eyes.
“Mom.”
Her hands began to shake.
“I didn’t tell you everything.”
The room went silent.
Officer Ruiz quietly set down her pen.
My mother stared at the safe apartment’s faded wallpaper as though the answer might be written there.
“Your father didn’t leave because he didn’t love you,” she said.
My chest tightened.
“Then why did he leave?”
“Because Franklin made him.”
I stopped breathing.
My mother began to cry.
“Franklin knew Daniel before I did. They worked together years ago at the warehouse. Daniel had a gambling problem then, but he was getting help. He was trying. When we divorced, it wasn’t because Daniel didn’t love you. It was because we were young and struggling and angry all the time.”
“Mom, what did Franklin do?”
She wiped her face.
“Franklin came into my life afterward. He told me Daniel had started gambling again. He said Daniel had borrowed money from dangerous people. He said Daniel was unstable and could hurt you.”
“Was that true?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I believed him.”
My voice rose. “You believed him?”
“I was scared, Ethan!”
“So you let him tell me Dad didn’t want me?”
My mother flinched.
The guilt on her face was almost unbearable to see.
But the truth hurt too much to soften.
“After Franklin moved in,” she continued, “Daniel tried to contact you. He sent birthday cards. He called. He came to the apartment once.”
I remembered none of it.
“Franklin told me he had threatened him,” she said. “He said Daniel had come drunk and violent. I let Franklin handle it.”
Officer Ruiz leaned forward. “Did you ever see Daniel threaten Franklin?”
“No.”
“Did you ever see evidence that he was dangerous?”
“No.”
My mother covered her mouth.
“I was afraid of losing what little stability we had. Franklin had a job. He paid the rent. He promised he could take care of us.”
“And what happened to Dad?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
But Franklin’s text suggested he did.
The police obtained warrants for Franklin’s phone records, email accounts, and storage unit. What they found changed everything.
Franklin had been sending messages to my father for years.
Not from his own phone.
From prepaid numbers and burner accounts.
Some messages claimed I did not want to see him.
Others threatened to report him for violating custody agreements if he tried to contact me.
The worst messages were sent the year after Franklin married my mother.
Stay away from Ethan, or I’ll make sure he knows exactly why his father abandoned him.
You’re not stable enough to raise a kid. Everyone knows it.
Dana has moved on. Don’t destroy their lives because you can’t control yourself.
There were dozens.
Then Officer Ruiz found an old address in Tennessee linked to Daniel Carter.
A private investigator confirmed he was alive.
He had been living in a small town outside Nashville, working as an auto mechanic.
He had no idea where I was.
For nearly eleven years, he had believed I hated him.
I stared at the printed report until the words blurred.
“He’s alive,” I whispered.
My mother sat beside me, crying.
“Yes.”
Anger rose through me so fast it made my surgical scar ache.
Franklin had not only stolen money from me.
He had not only hurt me.
He had stolen my father.
Two days later, Daniel agreed to meet me.
Not at his house.
Not at a police station.
At a diner halfway between Indianapolis and Nashville.
I almost did not go.
What if he looked at me and regretted everything?
What if he had made a new family?
What if he really had been weak?
The drive felt endless.
My mother sat in the passenger seat, silent the entire way.
When we pulled into the diner parking lot, I saw him through the window.
He was sitting in a booth alone.
Older than I remembered. His hair was grayer. His shoulders were broader. His hands looked rough and oil-stained even though he had clearly scrubbed them clean.
He was staring at the door.
Waiting.
When I walked in, he stood so fast his coffee spilled.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then he said my name.
“Ethan.”
His voice broke on it.
I wanted to be angry.
I wanted to demand why he never fought harder.
Instead, I saw tears in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
And just like that, I understood something terrible.
Franklin had not made me believe I was unwanted.
May you like
He had made everyone believe they had lost me.
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