An Open Letter to The New Woman in My Father’s Life

Subject: An Open Letter to The New Woman in My Father’s Life
From: His Daughter
Date: 11 Dec 2015

First, I’d like you to be aware that I do not hate you. There are times that I want to.

But who my father is has nothing to do with who you are. And I barely know you, and I cannot hate a person I barely know.

However, there are a few things I want you to know.

He treats you better than he ever treated my mother. That is not your fault. Still, when I saw that he’d bought you flowers, I tried to remember a time when he’d bought flowers for my mother. I couldn’t.

He listens to you more than he listens to his daughters. He interrupted my sisters and me during Thanksgiving dinner to continue talking to you. I don’t think he noticed. He just cares more about what you have to say.

He happily spends money on you, but complains about paying child support. My dad’s salary is not a modest one. The amount he spends on child support each month, however, is. He would rather shower you with things you don’t need than provide his kids with the things they do need.

He spends more time with you than he does with my sisters. He will claim that this is not entirely his fault, and maybe it’s not. But when he has to choose between spending time with them or you, he chooses you.

He’s more proud of you than he is of me. You are shiny and new. He likes to show you off. He thinks you’re doing something important with your life. He thinks you’re a decent person. He is proud to call you his. I am not sure I could say the same for myself.

None of these things are your fault. I know that, and yet I still resent you.

But you have to understand that I thought my father was incapable of love. I had come to terms with the fact that he was simply one who struggled with affection.

But when I see the way he appreciates you and the way he loves you, I am at a loss. I am once again caught up in the heartbreaking mess of figuring out why it was that his family was undeserving of his love.

But for that, I cannot hate you. I cannot even hate him.

What I can hate is that it took him eighteen years to figure out what love looked like.

I can hate that we were not the ones able to witness him discover it.

And I do.

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