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After My Parents’ Divorce, They Cast Me Out: How I Was Forced to Leave Home, Lost My Family, and Began a New Life—Until a Twist of Fate Brought Us All Back Together
I pleaded, yet my mother stood firm. She hurriedly tossed my belongings into a rucksack, handed me a bit of cash, and pushed me out the door. I always thought I had a perfectly ordinary English familya mother, a father, their daughter, and my grandfather Walter. For a while, my parents seemed to get on well, but gradually my mum stopped caring for herself, and eventually my dad met someone else.
Dad’s girlfriend was much younger than him, and when she fell pregnant with his child, Mum couldnt forgive his betrayal. So, he left us to be with her. Both my parents began to rebuild their lives, but in their new worlds, there was simply no room for me.
By the time I was finishing my GCSEs, my mum brought home a new boyfriend who was much younger. I protested, resenting the change. Not long after, I started hanging about with the wrong crowd. I drank too much, chopped my hair into a spiky pixie cut, and dyed it bright pink. Mum hardly noticedshe was too wrapped up in her own lifeso I grew even more peculiar. After my first year of college, following yet another heated row, Mum kicked me out for good.
She told me then, Youre old enough now. I, like your father, deserve some happiness of my own. Pack your bags and go live with your dad!
Left with no other choice, I begged her for forgiveness, clutching at one last hope that shed change her mind. She simply ignored my pleas, stuffed my things into a bag, and showed me the door. When I turned up at Dads house, he stood in the doorway and said, Look, this flat belongs to my wife, and she wont have you here. Go back to your mum and work things out. Then he shut the door in my face.
I had nowhere to go, so I bought a ticket on a train. Many things happened after that day. I arrived in a small northern town, enrolled in a vocational college, and after graduating, found work as a cook.
Sometime later, I met a lovely bloke, fell in love, and married him. Eventually, we saved enough to buy our own flat. My husband urged me to forgive my parentshed grown up in foster care, never knowing his mothers love, and he understood loneliness more than anyone.
But I kept putting off reconciliation. Finally, my husband said, Youre lucky to even have parents, but pride has made you choose the life of an orphan. We all make mistakes. Its time to face them, not run away.
We journeyed down to my hometown. When we knocked on the door of my old house, my now-grey-haired parents answered. Mum saw me and fell to her knees, begging for forgiveness. In that moment, I realised forgiveness had long been in my heartId simply been too stubborn to admit it.
My husband and I stepped inside. I introduced him, then told my parents theyd soon be grandparents. My parents confessed theyd reconciled through searching for me together. My leaving had brought them closer, so they became a family again.
Dads second wife had noticed he missed his first, so she let him go. Later, she married the man shed initially had her affair with. My dad, thinking her baby was his, had left us, but it turned out the child wasnt his at all.
After the divorce and a paternity test, she discovered my father had no connection to her child. Now, my parents are happy together, and so am I. At last, things are just as Id dreamed as a teenagermy mum and dad living under one roof again.
Sometimes, it takes losing everything you know to rediscover what truly matters. Forgiveness isnt just a gift for othersits how we find peace within ourselves, and it can be the bridge back to happiness we never thought we’d see again.
A Sold Friend: Grandad’s Tale And He Understood Me! It Was No Fun – I Realized What a Foolish Idea It Was. I Sold Him. He Thought It Was a Game, Until He Realized I’d Truly Sold Him. Times, After All, Are Different for Everyone. For Some, All-Inclusive Isn’t All That Generous, While Others Just Dream of Fresh Bread and Sausage. That’s how we lived – each in our own way, with all sorts of ups and downs. I was little back then. My uncle – Uncle George – gave me a shepherd puppy, and I was over the moon. The pup bonded with me, understood me at a glance, looked into my eyes and waited, waited for my signal. “Lie down,” I would say after a pause, and he would lie, gazing up at me loyally as though ready to die for me. “Serve,” I commanded, and the puppy would clamber up on chubby legs and freeze, swallowing anxiously, waiting for a reward – a tasty treat. But I had nothing to spoil him with. We were barely managing ourselves. Times were tough. My uncle, Uncle George, my mum’s brother who had given me the puppy, once said to me: “Don’t be upset, lad. Look how loyal he is! Sell him, then call for him, and he’ll run back to you. No one will see. You’ll have some money for a treat for you and your mum, and for him too. Trust me, I’m telling you something useful.” The idea sounded good to me. I didn’t realize then how wrong it was – an adult suggested it, and besides, it’d just be a joke, and I could get a treat. I whispered into Loyal’s warm, furry ear that I’d give him away, then call him back, so he should come to me and escape from strangers. And he understood me! He barked, as if to agree. The next day, I put on his lead and walked him to the station. Everyone sold things there – flowers, cucumbers, apples. The crowd poured off the train, and people began buying, haggling. I stepped forward a little, pulling my dog closer. But no one approached. Almost everyone had gone when a man with a stern face came over. “You there, lad, waiting for someone, or maybe you want to sell your dog? Good, strong pup – I’ll take him,” and he pressed some money into my palm. I handed him the lead. Loyal looked around and sneezed happily. “Go on, Loyal, go with him, my friend,” I whispered, “I’ll call you, come to me.” And he went off with the man. Hiding, I watched where they went. That evening, I brought home bread, sausage, and sweets. Mum asked sternly: “Did you steal this from someone?” “No, Mum, I helped carry some things at the station, and they paid me.” “Well done, son. Now eat and let’s go to bed – I’m exhausted.” She didn’t even ask about Loyal; she didn’t care. Uncle George came by in the morning. I was getting ready for school, but all I wanted was to go call for Loyal. “So,” he chuckled, “sold your friend?” and ruffled my hair. I pulled away, refusing to answer. I hadn’t slept all night, and couldn’t eat my bread and sausage for the lump in my throat. It wasn’t fun – I realized what a stupid idea it had been. No wonder Mum never liked Uncle George. “He’s daft, don’t listen to him,” she’d always say. I grabbed my schoolbag and dashed from the house. It was three blocks to that man’s house, and I ran the whole way. Loyal sat behind a tall fence, tied up with a thick rope. I called him, but he looked at me sadly, head on his paws, tail wagging, trying to bark though his voice broke. I’d sold him. He thought it was a game, but then realized I had truly sold him. The owner came out, scolded Loyal, and he tucked in his tail. I knew then it was hopeless. That evening I worked at the station carrying bags. They paid little, but it was enough. Scared, I went to the gate and knocked. The man opened the door. “Oh, it’s you again. What do you want?” “Sir, I changed my mind,” I stammered, handing him the money he’d given me for Loyal. He squinted at me, took the money, and untied Loyal. “Here, lad. Take him. He’s been pining, not cut out for a guard dog – but mind, he may never forgive you.” Loyal looked at me mournfully. Our game had become a trial for us both. Then he walked over, licked my hand and pressed his nose into my stomach. Years have passed since then, but I know now: you never sell a friend, not even as a joke. And Mum was so glad: “I was exhausted yesterday, then remembered – where’s our dog? I’m used to that boy, he’s part of the family, our Loyal!” After that, Uncle George hardly ever visited. We didn’t find his jokes funny anymore.
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