On my 20th birthday, I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize. “Lina,” the voice said. “I’m your father.” After 17 years of silence, he wasn’t calling to reconnect or apologize—he wanted something. I froze, barely able to respond. The dad who vanished when I was three was suddenly back? It didn’t feel real.

Growing up, I told myself he was dead because that hurt less than knowing he left us. My mom raised me and my little sister Stacey alone, working double shifts and never once complaining. She gave us everything, while he gave us nothing. I always wondered why we weren’t enough for him to stay.

We agreed to meet at a diner near my childhood home. When I saw him, he smiled like no time had passed. He told me he’d changed, that he was sober now and wanted a second chance. But then came the truth—he needed money. “You probably have access to student loans, right?” That’s when it clicked. He wasn’t back for love—he was back for cash.

I went straight to my mom. We gathered years of evidence—bills, receipts, everything she’d paid for alone. With help from a lawyer, we filed for unpaid child support. When I met him again, I handed him a court summons, not money. His face fell.

A few months later, the court ruled in our favor. He owes my mom over \$86,000. For me and Stacey, it wasn’t about the money—it was about closure. He left us once. He doesn’t get another chance.