When my estranged father called from his deathbed, I was torn between anger and curiosity. He left twenty years ago, and now he was asking to see me. I hesitated but called back. “Alice, it’s me. I… I don’t have much time,” he said weakly. “I need to explain… to ask something of you. But please, don’t tell your mother.”

I confronted him about his disappearance, and he revealed a shocking truth. “Your grandfather, Harold, paid me to disappear. He hated me, thought I was a failure. He found someone else for your mom.” He continued, “I left because I was struggling with addictions and bad decisions. Your grandfather offered me money to leave, and I took it.”

My anger boiled over. “So you just left us for money?” He explained he invested the money to secure my future. “I saw your graduation, your volleyball games. I was always there, just… from a distance.”

He asked me to visit him one last time at St. Mary’s Hospital. I was unsure but went. Seeing him frail and vulnerable, my anger mixed with sadness. “I thought it was the best way to secure a future for you and your mother,” he said. “But I hope you’ll understand why I did what I did when you read those letters.” He handed me a key to a safety deposit box containing letters he wrote over the years.

After he passed, I read the letters and discovered the financial documents. The letters were filled with his regrets and love. I confronted my mom, who admitted knowing about the offer. “I thought you deserved a better life,” she said.

To honor his memory, I used the money to start a scholarship fund in his name. It brought me peace, understanding the sacrifices both my parents made for my future.