Truly Sorry

“He told me he was sorry, but after what he has done, how can I believe him?  How can I ever believe our father ever again?”  I stared at the lake and wanted my sister to say something.    I knew she wanted our father to go back to being the father of our childhood, but I didn’t think he could.  I don’t think we could. 

“What if we gave him another chance?  Another try to come back into our lives.  I miss having a father,” Melissa whispered softly several minutes later. 

I agreed with her, but at this point there was nothing to say that hadn’t already been said.  He had left us, alone and destitute, when we were barely legal adults.  It was one of those scripted TV moments when he said he was going out for some milk and would be back soon.  We should have known then he was on one of his ‘field trips.’ 

Only this time, he never came back.  Never came back to us and never called to tell us where he was and what he was doing.  Melissa and I had to work several part-time jobs to be able to pay rent, bills and groceries.  The day my resentment at my father peaked was the day the police officer showed up at the front door.