I waited for the girls to leave the house.

Then I opened the envelope slowly.

Inside were medical documents.

Many.

Diagnostics.
Treatments.
Dates.

And a handwritten letter.

“I know you deserve to hate me.”

My hands started shaking.

😢 The confession

My brother explained that shortly after his wife's death he had been diagnosed with a severe mental disorder.

He said he started losing control of himself.

That I heard voices.
That he was suffering violent attacks.
That one night he even woke up without remembering where he was.

And he was afraid.

So much fear.

Especially afraid of hurting your daughters.

💔 “I preferred to be hated”

The letter continued:

“I knew you could give them the life that I couldn’t give them anymore.”

“I preferred to grow up hating an absent father than live terrified next to a broken one.”

I felt the air disappear from the room.

For fifteen years I thought I had just abandoned them.

But the truth was much sadder.

The last page explained why he had returned.

He was dying.

The treatment no longer worked.

And I just wanted to see them one last time...
Even if it was from afar.