My husband threw me and our three children out with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Cold, scared, and desperate, I knocked on the first door I saw and asked for work. I had no idea that moment would change everything—for me, my kids, and the man behind that door.
Being a mother of many children was hard.
Being a mother of many children with no support was ten times harder. There were days I felt like I was carrying the whole world on my shoulders.
I loved my children with all my heart and tried to give them the best childhood I could. I read to them at night, made their favorite meals, helped with schoolwork, and kissed their scraped knees.
But sometimes, my strength simply ran out, and I had nowhere to draw support from.
My parents had already passed away, and I missed them every day. If they had been alive, they would have helped me, or at least listened. But I had no one.
My husband, Henry, acted like they were only my children and had nothing to do with him.
“I bring in the money. That’s enough,” he always said.
But I knew children needed more than money. They needed a father’s arms, a father’s praise, a father’s time.
For years, I tried to explain this to Henry.
I begged, I cried, I stayed quiet. Nothing worked. My hope kept crashing like waves against a cold rock.
He never saw how amazing our kids were.
Tom, Hailey, and little Michael — they were my world. But he kept turning his back on them.
“Dad! My project won first place at the fair!” Tom shouted as he came running through the front door.
His face was glowing.
He held up a bright poster with blue ribbons pinned to the top. Henry sat on the couch with the TV remote in his hand. He did not turn to look.
“Mm,” he said, eyes fixed on the screen.
Tom stood still for a moment, then lowered the poster and walked past him without another word. A few minutes later, Hailey skipped in.
Her cheeks were red from excitement. “Dad, the dance coach said I was the best in class today!” she said.
Henry gave a small shrug.
“Yeah.”
That was all. Hailey’s smile faded. She walked quietly to her room.
Then Michael came in with a piece of paper in his hands.
“Dad, I drew our family!” he said and held it out proudly. Henry took one glance, then tossed the paper in the trash can without reading it.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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