My father the proud, the stubborn

My father is the man I love the most and the one I hate the most. It's been a year since I did not see him, following a violent dispute. The situation then deteriorated. I did not hear anything for a year.

At first I thought I would forget it, because the words he told me last time remain etched in my head. I will never forget them so much I cried. It's only been for some time that I recognize that I miss him and that whatever he did, or that he does, he remains my father

Just before my eighteenth birthday, I sent him a letter, fear in your stomach. Every day, I asked my mother if there was a letter for me. And today, a month later, he phoned me. My father, the proud, the stubborn, finally took a step towards me. There are no words to describe how I feel right now. We hung up a few minutes ago. I'll see him on Sunday.


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