My mother did everything in her power to prevent me from seeing my father after they divorced. But once my dad tricked me on the phone, and everything changed.
“I don’t want to see you ever again!” my mom yelled as my father got into the car and left our home forever. That was my earliest memory. Dad left when I was two years old after a huge fight with my mother.
They got divorced, and I didn’t see him for many years. As I got older, I realized that my mother was preventing me from seeing my father. “I want to visit Dad. Please!” I begged when I was ten years old.
“No! You can’t go see him. He’s busy with his new family and doesn’t want to see you,” she replied.
“I know that’s not true! You’re lying to me! I talk to him on the phone, and he wants to see me!” I cried, pleading with her to see my father.
“Don’t talk back to me, Alexandra! Your father left us and doesn’t deserve to have a relationship with you now,” Mom said. I thought that was unfair, but I was still just a child.
My dad and I kept in constant contact over the phone, but I really wanted to spend time with him, and I knew he wanted the same. However, Mom was an expert at getting her way.
As a teenager, I decided to go on my own to see him, and she called the cops on me. They picked me up before I could reach his house and drove me back home.
“The next time you try to disobey me, I will say that your father kidnapped you, and he will go to jail where he belongs!” she screamed at me when the cops left.
Back then, I thought she was doing the right thing for me, but as I grew up, I realized that it was pure selfishness on her part. I didn’t want to hang out with her or do anything. I also started rebelling at school. She drove a huge wedge between us, and I didn’t care anymore.
“Alexandra, do you want to go shopping with me?” she asked me one day. I was 17 years old and had grown to almost hate her.
“Nope,” I answered.
“How about the movies?”
“Nope.”
“Why don’t you want to do anything with me?” she whined.
“Really? You’re asking me that question? You know exactly why I treat you this way,” I said in a bored tone.
“I have done nothing to you! All the sacrifices I have made for you, and you’re so ungrateful!” Mom yelled once more.
“Yeah, ok. Close the door, please,” I added.
By then, I was immune to her tantrums and how she victimized herself to get away with things. I moved out as soon as I turned 18 and never looked back.
But seeing my dad wasn’t any easier. I had to work two jobs and go to school. He was also busy with work, and his second wife had just delivered twins by then. Neither of us had time, so we put it off.
I met with him on a Saturday afternoon at his house and met his wife. They showed me the twins, and we talked for a while. But it felt so awkward that I didn’t want to do it again. Maybe my mother had ruined any chance I had at a relationship with him.
We talked on the phone for a long time once a week. I asked about the twins and told him about my life. It wasn’t ideal, but it worked for us. Years went by this way. I didn’t hear of my mother until I was 29 years old.
“Hey, Alexandra,” she spoke on the phone tentatively.
“Oh, hey, Mom,” I answered, confused with her call.
“We haven’t talked in a long time. How are you?” she asked.
“I’m fine. How about you?” I replied. We chitchatted awkwardly for a few minutes, and then she got to the point.
“Listen, honey. I was hoping that we could work on mending our relationship. How does that sound?” Mom wondered.
“I don’t know. Are you going to apologize for everything?” I retorted.
“I…I still don’t think I did anything wrong. I was trying to protect you from being hurt like I was when you were little. But I understand that you felt differently,” she explained.
“So, you’re not apologizing?” I continued, tired of this conversation. She was never going to acknowledge her wrongs, and I had no time for that.
“Alexandra! I’m your mother. You haven’t talked to me in years! You’re so selfish!” she wailed, raising her voice.
“Ok, goodbye,” I said and hung up the phone. She tried calling me back, but I ignored her. I would not let her back into my life until she apologized.
Another year went by, and I received a strange call from my dad. He never called during working hours. “Alexandra! This is an emergency! Can you come to see me?” Dad said urgently through the phone.
“What? Dad? What’s going on?” I asked, worried.
“I sent you an address. Come quickly! This is a matter of life or death!” he told me and hung up.
I went to my boss, took a day off work, and ran to my car. But the address Dad gave me took me right to an amusement park close to his house.
“Hey, honey!” he smiled when I met him at the front gate.
“Dad! Why are we here? What’s the emergency?” I asked, confused.
“The emergency is that you and I never got to do all the fun things father and daughters do over the years. We have put off building a real relationship, and I don’t want to waste any more time. Let’s go have fun!” Dad explained.
“Can you go on the rides? I know you have had some health problems lately,” I said hesitantly.
“I’m fit as a fiddle. Come on!” he urged.
We spent the entire day at the park and talked about everything. I felt like a child for the first time in my life, and it was wonderful.
I also told him about my problems with Mom and how hard it was when she didn’t let me see him. “Your mother is complicated and full of pride. But she’s not evil. We didn’t work out, and she couldn’t take it,” he started.
“Yeah, I wished I could’ve lived with you,” I told him.
“Well, I was pretty lost for many years trying to figure things out. We might have hated each other. But here we are, and I think you should patch things up with her. Life is too short to hold grudges,” he said.
After that marvelous day at the park, we went to dinner. When I got home, I called Mom and told her everything I felt regarding my dad. How she hurt me back then by not letting me spend time with him and how fun our day had been. She cried and apologized to me for the first time. I felt like she understood, and we started talking more often.
Meanwhile, I grew closer to my dad and loved babysitting my twin half-siblings. We even took them to the amusement park for a fun day too.
I finally had the childhood I always wanted.
What can we learn from this story?
Divorce happens between couples, not with children. Alexandra’s mother didn’t understand that her father divorced her but wanted a relationship with their daughter.
Life is too short for grudges. Alexandra’s father is right. Sometimes, it’s better to forgive for your own sake. Let go of things that make you angry, and your mental health will improve.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
I Opened My Garage to a Homeless Woman—You Won’t Believe What I Found When I Walked In Unannounced
When a rich man, who feels emotionally distant, gives shelter to Lexi, a homeless woman, he becomes intrigued by her strength. Their unexpected friendship starts to grow—until one day he walks into his garage without knocking and finds something shocking. Who is Lexi really, and what is she hiding?
I had everything money could buy: a big house, fancy cars, and more wealth than I could ever use in a lifetime. Yet, inside, I felt an emptiness I couldn’t fill.
I had never had a family since women always seemed to want me only for the money I got from my parents. At sixty-one, I often wished I had made different choices.
I tapped the steering wheel absentmindedly, trying to shake off the familiar weight on my chest. That’s when I spotted a messy woman bent over a trash can.
I slowed the car, unsure why I even bothered. People like her were everywhere, right? But there was something about the way she moved, her thin arms digging through the garbage with a grim determination that tugged at something inside me.
She looked fragile but fierce, like she was holding on to life by sheer willpower.
Before I knew it, I had pulled over. The engine hummed as I rolled down the window, watching her from the safety of my car.
She looked up, startled. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, I thought she might run. But she didn’t. Instead, she straightened up, brushing her hands on her faded jeans.
“Do you need some help?” I asked, my voice sounding strange to me. I wasn’t the kind of person to talk to strangers or invite trouble into my life.
“You offering?” There was a sharpness in her voice, but also a tiredness, like she’d heard every empty promise before.
“I don’t know.” The words tumbled out before I could think. I stepped out of the car. “I just saw you there, and it didn’t seem right.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze fixed on mine. “What’s not right is life.” She let out a bitter laugh. “And cheating, no-good husbands in particular. But you don’t seem like someone who knows much about that.”
I winced, even though I knew she was right.
“Maybe not.” I paused, unsure how to continue. “Do you have a place to go tonight?”
She hesitated, her eyes darting away for a second before locking back onto mine. “No.”
The word hung in the air between us. That was all I needed to hear.
“Look, I have a garage. It’s more like a guest house. You could stay there until you get back on your feet.”
I expected her to laugh in my face, to tell me to go away. But instead, she blinked at me, the edges of her tough exterior starting to crack.
“I don’t take charity,” she said, her voice quieter now, more vulnerable.
“It’s not charity,” I replied, though I wasn’t entirely sure what it was. “It’s just a place to stay. No strings attached.”
“Okay. Just for a night,” she replied. “I’m Lexi, by the way.”
The drive back to my house was quiet. She sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, her arms wrapped around herself like a shield.
When we arrived, I led her to the garage-turned-guest-house. It wasn’t fancy, but it was enough for someone to live in.
“You can stay here,” I said, pointing to the small space. “There’s food in the fridge, too.”
“Thanks,” she muttered.
Over the next few days, Lexi stayed in the garage, but we saw each other for meals. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but something about her pulled at me.
Maybe it was how she kept going despite everything life threw at her, or perhaps the loneliness in her eyes, which mirrored my own. Maybe it was just the simple fact that I didn’t feel so alone anymore.
One night, as we sat across from each other at dinner, she began to open up.
“I used to be an artist,” she said softly. “Well, I tried to be. I had a small gallery, a few shows… but it all fell apart.”
“What happened?” I asked, genuinely curious.
She laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “Life happened. My husband left me for a younger woman he got pregnant and kicked me out. My whole life unraveled after that.”
“I’m sorry,” I muttered.
She shrugged. “It’s in the past.”
But I could tell it wasn’t, not really. The pain was still there, just below the surface. I knew that feeling all too well.
As the days passed, I found myself looking forward to our conversations.
Lexi had a sharp wit and a biting sense of humor that cut through the gloom of my empty house. Slowly, the hollow space inside me seemed to shrink.
It all changed one afternoon. I had been rushing around, trying to find the air pump for one of my cars. I barged into the garage without knocking, expecting to grab it quickly and leave. But what I saw stopped me cold.
There, spread across the floor, were dozens of paintings. Of me.
Or rather, grotesque versions of me. One painting showed me with chains around my neck, another with blood pouring from my eyes. In the corner, there was one of me lying in a casket.
I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. This was how she saw me? After everything I’d done for her?
I backed out of the room before she noticed me, my heart pounding.
That night, as we sat down for dinner, I couldn’t shake the images from my mind. Whenever I looked at Lexi, all I could see were those horrific portraits.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Lexi,” I said, my voice tight. “What are those paintings?”
Her fork clattered to the plate. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw them,” I said, my voice rising despite my efforts to stay calm. “The paintings of me. The chains, the blood, the coffin. What the hell is that?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see those,” she stammered.
“Well, I did,” I said coldly. “Is that how you see me? As some monster?”
“No, it’s not that.” She wiped her eyes, her voice shaky. “I was just… angry. I’ve lost everything, and you have so much. It wasn’t fair, and I couldn’t help it. I needed to let it out.”
“So you painted me like a villain?” I asked sharply.
She nodded, shame etched on her face. “I’m sorry.”
I sat back, letting the silence stretch between us. I wanted to forgive her. I wanted to understand. But I couldn’t.
“I think it’s time for you to go,” I said flatly.
Lexi’s eyes widened. “Wait, please—”
“No,” I interrupted. “It’s over. You need to leave.”
The next morning, I helped her pack her things and drove her to a nearby shelter. She didn’t say much, and neither did I. Before she stepped out of the car, I handed her a few hundred dollars.
She hesitated but then took the money with trembling hands.
Weeks passed, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of loss. Not just because of the disturbing paintings, but because of what we had before. There had been warmth and connection — something I hadn’t felt in years.
Then, one day, a package arrived at my door. Inside was a painting, but this one was different. It wasn’t grotesque or twisted. It was a serene portrait of me, captured with a peace I hadn’t known I possessed.
Tucked inside the package was a note with Lexi’s name and phone number scrawled at the bottom.
My finger hovered over the call button, my heart beating faster than it had in years. Getting worked up over a phone call felt silly, but there was so much more riding on it than I wanted to admit.
I swallowed hard and hit “Call” before I could second-guess myself. It rang twice before she picked up.
“Hello?” Her voice was hesitant, like she sensed it could only be me.
I cleared my throat. “Lexi. It’s me. I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I wasn’t sure if you’d like it. I figured I owed you something better than… those other paintings.”
“You didn’t owe me anything, Lexi. I wasn’t exactly fair to you, either.”
“You had every right to be upset.” Her voice was steadier now. “What I painted — those were things I needed to get out of me, but they weren’t really about you. You were just… there. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Lexi. I forgave you the moment I saw that painting.”
Her breath hitched. “You did?”
“I did,” I said, and I meant it. It wasn’t just the painting that had changed my mind; it was the feeling that I had let something meaningful slip away because I was too scared to face my pain. “And… well, I’ve been thinking… maybe we could start over.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, maybe we could talk. Maybe over dinner? If you’d like.”
“I’d like that,” she said. “I’d really like that.”
We made plans to meet in a few days. Lexi told me she used the money I gave her to buy new clothes and get a job. She was planning to move into an apartment when she got her first paycheck.
I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of having dinner with Lexi again.
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