I held his hand through painful nights.
I helped him through every small step of his recovery.
And as the days passed, he slowly became stronger.
Watching him fight his way back to life changed me.
For years, I’d believed my father had failed me because he couldn’t give me the life I wanted.
Now I finally understood.
He had given me everything he had.
His time.
His strength.
His youth.
His health.
And most importantly, his love.
Even when I hated him, he never stopped loving me.
Even when I walked away from him, he never turned his back on me.
I had chosen my mother because I thought money meant security.
But when everything fell apart, it was my father—the man I’d once called a loser—who still had a place for me beside him.
That was the price of my choice.
