My father was a kind man – or so I’ve been told.
Hard to say for certain, though, since he’s almost never around.
Mom had said over and over (I can quote her in my sleep) that I shouldn’t resent his absence. After all, he was only doing his duty, and he was doing a darn good job at providing us a life of luxury. But I barely ever saw him growing up, because those were the years before the comforts of video calling were within reach.
Every time he came home, I saw a stranger from a faraway land.
He showered us with presents and treats, of course. Mom would get an Hermès or something just as fancy. My sisters would receive Chanels. I’d have a shiny new gadget. We’d go on posh family vacations then visit our relatives and friends to tell them all about it, because why not?
Then poof, he’d be gone. Again. Back on the road to el dorado.
And I’d be waiting, not for his return, but for the time when he no longer has to leave.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.