When I was a little girl, I used to dream my dad would come back one day, apologize, and tell me it had all been a big mistake.
That he meant to be there.
That it was all just a misunderstanding.
But that moment never came.
My biological father, “Mike,” left when I was a toddler. No child support. No birthdays. No phone calls. Nothing. Just silence.
My mom was a single teen mom, and we struggled. She worked multiple jobs, and we lived off what we had. Our car didn’t even have reverse—we had to park on a hill or pull straight through. My grandparents helped when they could, but they weren’t financially stable either. It was a rough start.
But through it all, my mom showed up.
She worked harder than anyone I’ve ever seen. I never went without. She made sure I knew I was loved, even when life wasn’t easy.
Still, when you’re a little girl… you want your dad.
I didn’t get daddy-daughter dances. I didn’t have someone cheering for me in the stands. And no matter how amazing my mom was, I lived in a fantasy world for years, imagining my dad would walk back into my life and say he was sorry.
When I was 11, I found out I had a younger sister.
Mike stayed in her life.
He raised her.
He chose her.
And I began to realize he hadn’t been kept from me—he just hadn’t wanted to stay.
When I was sixteen, there was another chance to meet him.
At the time, my grandma “Diane” was living out of state, closer to her mother. I went to visit her over Thanksgiving break, and the plan was that I would meet Mike.
I was a bundle of nerves.
This was the moment little-me had dreamed about.
But when he showed up… I couldn’t do it.
I froze.
I wouldn’t come out of the bedroom. I was terrified.
Instead of comforting me, Diane got frustrated. She called me selfish.
And then she left.
She went off with Mike and the rest of that side of the family to visit my great-grandmother—without me.
I stayed behind, completely alone in her house.
At sixteen years old, I learned the hard way that my fear, my emotions, and my pain were seen as inconveniences.
Years later, my paternal great-grandmother became very sick.
I traveled again to see her.
The night I arrived, she passed away.
I stayed for a few days to attend the funeral.
It was overwhelming—not just because I was grieving her, but because I knew Mike would be there too.
I spent most of that trip looking over my shoulder, nervous and heartbroken, terrified of seeing him.
My mom, knowing how emotional it would be, drove up to meet me for support.
At one point, needing a break, we decided to walk outside for air.
And that’s when Mike walked in.
He looked right at us—me and my mom—and it was like we didn’t exist.
He just stood there, like we were in his way.
My mom said:
“Hey Mike.”
Nothing.
She added:
“This is Ann, your daughter.”
Still—nothing.
No flicker of recognition. No warmth. No apology.
Nothing.
My mom laughed awkwardly and kept walking. I followed, swallowing my hurt.
I held it together through the service.
But when we were walking out, everything I had bottled up came crashing down.
I started sobbing—loud, painful, heaving sobs.
The grief. The rejection. The heartbreaking realization that even standing in front of him, I was still invisible.
It remains one of the most overwhelming, soul-crushing moments of my life.
A few weeks ago, 32 years later, Mike sent me a Facebook friend request.
No message.
No apology.
No explanation.
Just a click. Like it was nothing.
Against my better judgment, I gave him a second chance.
I messaged him and told him everything:
That he missed every milestone.
That the one time I saw him, he treated me like a stranger.
That I struggled with self-worth for years because of his absence. I ended up in abusive relationships, including being raped by someone I thought loved me—because I believed I didn’t deserve better.
That after years of therapy, I realized my real father was “Rick”—my stepdad—the man who chose me and stayed.
His response?
“There is more to this story than you may ever know. I was abandoned too, by my father… There is much more that you don’t know about. And I was advised to never tell you. Enjoy your life. I still love you.”
“And I did recognize you. You were looking at me in a very unloving way, so to say.”
Not an apology.
Not accountability.
Just blame—and somehow making my expression the reason he never reached out.
For even more context:
I am painfully shy.
The funeral was full of people I hadn’t seen since I was a baby.
I was grieving.
I was terrified.
And I was standing inches away from a man who should have been my protector—and he didn’t even recognize me.
And let’s be honest: Mike had every chance to be involved.
I’ve been told by multiple people in his own family that he went to jail for writing bad checks and struggled with drug problems for years.
I understand addiction creates chaos.
But it doesn’t excuse 32 years of silence.
It doesn’t excuse choosing one child and not the other.
I told him clearly:
“You missed everything. And here’s the thing: I have a full, beautiful life now. One that doesn’t include you—and it’s not lacking a thing.”
“So unless you’re coming to repay my mom the child support she never got and the sacrifices she made while you were absent, I don’t want anything from you.”
When I told Diane about our exchange, she responded:
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even mention you to him.”
“I believe in second chances for everyone, not just some. That’s your choice and I’m staying out of it. It’s very hard on me, but no one seems to care about that.”
That was two days ago. She hasn’t messaged me since.
Which stings even more, because I live less than 10 minutes away from her—and I see her maybe 3-4 times a year.
Meanwhile, Mike’s brother and sister-in-law—the ones you’d expect to be more distant—are the ones who actually show up for me, text me, and love me without conditions.
I’m a people pleaser by nature. Setting a boundary this strong felt completely out of character for me.
It’s hard not to second-guess myself. But at the end of the day?
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t attack.
I didn’t hate.
I told the truth.
And I finally stopped waiting by the window for someone who was never coming.
So… AITA for refusing to let my biological father back into my life—and for setting boundaries with the grandmother?
Comments
Backup of the post’s body: When I was a little girl, I used to dream my dad would come back one day, apologize, and tell me it had all been a big mistake.
That he meant to be there.
That it was all just a misunderstanding.
But that moment never came.
My biological father, “Mike,” left when I was a toddler. No child support. No birthdays. No phone calls. Nothing. Just silence.
My mom was a single teen mom, and we struggled. She worked multiple jobs, and we lived off what we had. Our car didn’t even have reverse—we had to park on a hill or pull straight through. My grandparents helped when they could, but they weren’t financially stable either. It was a rough start.
But through it all, my mom showed up.
She worked harder than anyone I’ve ever seen. I never went without. She made sure I knew I was loved, even when life wasn’t easy.
Still, when you’re a little girl… you want your dad.
I didn’t get daddy-daughter dances. I didn’t have someone cheering for me in the stands. And no matter how amazing my mom was, I lived in a fantasy world for years, imagining my dad would walk back into my life and say he was sorry.
When I was 11, I found out I had a younger sister.
Mike stayed in her life.
He raised her.
He chose her.
And I began to realize he hadn’t been kept from me—he just hadn’t wanted to stay.
When I was sixteen, there was another chance to meet him.
At the time, my grandma “Diane” was living out of state, closer to her mother. I went to visit her over Thanksgiving break, and the plan was that I would meet Mike.
I was a bundle of nerves.
This was the moment little-me had dreamed about.
But when he showed up… I couldn’t do it.
I froze.
I wouldn’t come out of the bedroom. I was terrified.
Instead of comforting me, Diane got frustrated. She called me selfish.
And then she left.
She went off with Mike and the rest of that side of the family to visit my great-grandmother—without me.
I stayed behind, completely alone in her house.
At sixteen years old, I learned the hard way that my fear, my emotions, and my pain were seen as inconveniences.
Years later, my paternal great-grandmother became very sick.
I traveled again to see her.
The night I arrived, she passed away.
I stayed for a few days to attend the funeral.
It was overwhelming—not just because I was grieving her, but because I knew Mike would be there too.
I spent most of that trip looking over my shoulder, nervous and heartbroken, terrified of seeing him.
My mom, knowing how emotional it would be, drove up to meet me for support.
At one point, needing a break, we decided to walk outside for air.
And that’s when Mike walked in.
He looked right at us—me and my mom—and it was like we didn’t exist.
He just stood there, like we were in his way.
My mom said:
“Hey Mike.”
Nothing.
She added:
“This is Ann, your daughter.”
Still—nothing.
No flicker of recognition. No warmth. No apology.
Nothing.
My mom laughed awkwardly and kept walking. I followed, swallowing my hurt.
I held it together through the service.
But when we were walking out, everything I had bottled up came crashing down.
I started sobbing—loud, painful, heaving sobs.
The grief. The rejection. The heartbreaking realization that even standing in front of him, I was still invisible.
It remains one of the most overwhelming, soul-crushing moments of my life.
A few weeks ago, 32 years later, Mike sent me a Facebook friend request.
No message.
No apology.
No explanation.
Just a click. Like it was nothing.
Against my better judgment, I gave him a second chance.
I messaged him and told him everything:
That he missed every milestone.
That the one time I saw him, he treated me like a stranger.
That I struggled with self-worth for years because of his absence. I ended up in abusive relationships, including being raped by someone I thought loved me—because I believed I didn’t deserve better.
That after years of therapy, I realized my real father was “Rick”—my stepdad—the man who chose me and stayed.
His response?
“There is more to this story than you may ever know. I was abandoned too, by my father… There is much more that you don’t know about. And I was advised to never tell you. Enjoy your life. I still love you.”
“And I did recognize you. You were looking at me in a very unloving way, so to say.”
Not an apology.
Not accountability.
Just blame—and somehow making my expression the reason he never reached out.
For even more context:
I am painfully shy.
The funeral was full of people I hadn’t seen since I was a baby.
I was grieving.
I was terrified.
And I was standing inches away from a man who should have been my protector—and he didn’t even recognize me.
And let’s be honest: Mike had every chance to be involved.
I’ve been told by multiple people in his own family that he went to jail for writing bad checks and struggled with drug problems for years.
I understand addiction creates chaos.
But it doesn’t excuse 32 years of silence.
It doesn’t excuse choosing one child and not the other.
I told him clearly:
“You missed everything. And here’s the thing: I have a full, beautiful life now. One that doesn’t include you—and it’s not lacking a thing.”
“So unless you’re coming to repay my mom the child support she never got and the sacrifices she made while you were absent, I don’t want anything from you.”
When I told Diane about our exchange, she responded:
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even mention you to him.”
“I believe in second chances for everyone, not just some. That’s your choice and I’m staying out of it. It’s very hard on me, but no one seems to care about that.”
That was two days ago. She hasn’t messaged me since.
Which stings even more, because I live less than 10 minutes away from her—and I see her maybe 3-4 times a year.
Meanwhile, Mike’s brother and sister-in-law—the ones you’d expect to be more distant—are the ones who actually show up for me, text me, and love me without conditions.
I’m a people pleaser by nature. Setting a boundary this strong felt completely out of character for me.
It’s hard not to second-guess myself. But at the end of the day?
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t attack.
I didn’t hate.
I told the truth.
And I finally stopped waiting by the window for someone who was never coming.
So… AITA for refusing to let my biological father back into my life—and for setting boundaries with the grandmother?
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