Growing up, it was just me and Mom. She raised me alone, and although she had remarkable qualities—her wit, sarcasm, free-spiritedness, and bravery—she carried a deep hatred for my father that colored her life and mine. She despised him for leaving, for never coming around, for forcing her to shoulder everything alone. That hatred spread, reaching his mother too, and eventually, she recruited me into it. I grew up convinced that he wasn’t important, that I was better off without him. A part of me was missing, but I pretended I didn’t need it.

After I graduated, I was posted to a nearby town. It was my first real taste of independence, a chance to explore, and I was excited. I was lost when I arrived, literally and figuratively, until I met Aba. She helped me settle in, guided me to my office, helped me find a place to live, and even shared her meals with me. There was just one complication: I already had a girlfriend. But Aba’s kindness made it difficult to come clean, so I distanced myself, hoping she’d take the hint. Instead, she leaned in harder, until one night she showed up unannounced—and one thing led to another.

The next morning, I was consumed with guilt. I told her about my girlfriend, Lottie. Aba slapped me and stormed out. I was sad, but relieved, and even began bringing Lottie around. Aba hated me for it and refused to speak to me for months. Toward the end of my service, I was offered a permanent position. I discussed it with Mom and Lottie, and they were thrilled; jobs were hard to come by, and this felt like a secure future.

A bachelor’s life was tough, and the long distance with Lottie only added to the strain. Before I knew it, I was back in Aba’s arms. She asked if I was still with Lottie, and I admitted I was, but this time she didn’t mind. Instead, she played our relationship counselor, advising me on how to make Lottie happy. We became lovers again, sometimes even when Lottie was on the phone. Aba would stay quiet, a silent accomplice.

One day, I was discussing wedding plans with Lottie on the phone. She’d have to move to my place after the wedding, but she complained about the distance to her workplace. Aba overheard and asked, "You two are getting married?"

"Yes," I replied, “next year, in the middle of the year.”

"Congratulations," she said flatly, but her expression was anything but happy. She started pulling away after that. Then one night, she came over, and as usual, we were about to get intimate when I realized I was out of protection. I told her I’d get some, but she claimed she was on birth control. I foolishly believed her.

Two months later, Aba told me she was pregnant. Panic set in. I begged her to consider alternatives, but she refused. I was desperate to keep Lottie, with our wedding only months away, but Aba started pushing me to marry her instead. When the stress became overwhelming, I went to my mother, hoping for support. She asked if Lottie knew, and when I shook my head, I confessed, “I don’t want to lose her.”

I told Lottie everything. She was devastated, but she stayed, with one condition: I had to stop cheating, and any interaction with Aba would be managed by her. I agreed, grateful she hadn’t left. But things only got worse. Aba caused drama at every turn because I refused to communicate with her directly. For the sake of my sanity, I requested a transfer out of town.

Three months before the wedding, our baby was born. I went to see him with Lottie and my mother, but Aba wouldn’t let us in. A heated exchange followed, and her family eventually relented, allowing us a brief, tense visit. After that, I started going alone, and Aba would let me see the child, though the tension was palpable. One day, I told her the wedding was the following week.

Her face darkened. "If you marry that girl," she hissed, "you’ll never see your son again."

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I went ahead with the wedding, and true to her word, Aba cut me off completely. I would go to visit, but she’d make excuses, or I’d be told she had moved. On the rare occasions I did see her, she still denied me access to my son, demanding money in exchange for nothing. I was losing my mind, worn down by the endless drama, and slowly, I started letting go. My wife, Lottie, is pregnant now, and soon we’ll have a baby of our own. My attention has shifted, and I feel that part of me I once wanted to reclaim slipping away.

This is all my fault. I don’t blame anyone but myself. And now, I finally understand. I think I know why Dad left. I’m not saying he was right—I’m just saying history has a way of repeating itself so that those who failed to understand yesterday’s lessons can learn them today.