I spent my whole life believing my father had abandoned us. Then, after years of silence, he returned. I wanted nothing to do with him—until he said, “You need to know the truth about your mother.”

I hated men. My mother had made sure of that. She worked tirelessly after my father left, always reminding me, “Men can’t be trusted.”

I grew up believing her, carrying that hatred. Until I met Jeremy. He was different—or so I thought. When he introduced me to his family, my world crumbled.

His stepfather, Peter, was my father.

Shock and rage consumed me. My father had left us to start another family—one he truly loved. I ran, sobbing, to my mother’s house, where she only confirmed my worst fears: “I told you, Alice. Never trust men.”

I shut Jeremy out and took time off work. But my father found me, waiting outside my office.

“You need to know the truth,” he said. I refused to listen—until he shattered everything I believed: “Alice, you’re not my biological daughter.”

My mother had lied. She had cheated and told him I was his. When he discovered the truth, she shut him out of my life.

I confronted her. She admitted it but justified it with her pain. “He left us!” she yelled.

“No. He left you.”

That day, I chose to meet my father again. I had spent my whole life hating men. But that hatred had never been mine—it had been hers. Now, I had to find my own truth.