Dad Reappeared After 20 Years and Expects Me to Support Him: “You Don’t Mind Sharing Your Home, Right? You Won’t Turn Your Dad Away”

When I was five years old, my father, Jerry, walked out on my mom and me. He left without a word, without a trace, and without any intention of coming back. My mom, Leah, did her best to raise me on her own, working two jobs to make ends meet. She was my rock, my hero, and the only parent I ever knew.

Fast forward 20 years, and I had just celebrated my 25th birthday. I had a stable job, a cozy apartment, and a small circle of friends who were like family to me. Life was far from perfect, but it was mine, and I was proud of what I had achieved despite the odds.

Then one day, out of the blue, there was a knock on my door. I opened it to find a man who looked vaguely familiar but much older and worn out. It took me a moment to realize that this was Jerry, my father. The man who had abandoned us two decades ago.

“Isabella?” he asked hesitantly, as if unsure whether he had the right address.

“Yes,” I replied cautiously. “Who are you?”

“It’s me, Jerry. Your dad.”

The words hit me like a ton of bricks. My dad? The man who had left us to fend for ourselves? The man who had never once tried to contact me or see how I was doing? I felt a surge of anger and disgust rise within me.

“What do you want?” I asked coldly.

“I need a place to stay,” he said, looking down at his worn-out shoes. “I’ve fallen on hard times, and I have nowhere else to go.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This man, who had abandoned me and my mom without a second thought, now expected me to take him in and support him?

“You don’t mind sharing your home, right? You won’t turn your dad away,” he added, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I felt a mix of emotions—anger, betrayal, and a deep sense of injustice. How could he expect me to welcome him with open arms after all these years? How could he think that he had any right to ask for my help?

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said firmly. “You left us. You left me. You have no right to come back into my life and expect anything from me.”

Jerry looked taken aback, as if he hadn’t considered that I might refuse him. “But I’m your father,” he said weakly.

“No,” I replied, my voice shaking with emotion. “You were never a father to me. A father doesn’t abandon his child. A father doesn’t disappear for 20 years without a word.”

He tried to argue, but I cut him off. “You need to leave,” I said firmly. “I can’t help you.”

Jerry looked at me with a mixture of anger and desperation. “Fine,” he said finally. “But don’t think this is over.”

He turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the doorway with tears streaming down my face. I felt a deep sense of loss—not for the man who had just left, but for the father I had never had.

In the days that followed, I struggled with my emotions. Part of me felt guilty for turning him away, but another part of me knew that I had made the right decision. Jerry had made his choices long ago, and now he had to live with the consequences.

I reached out to my mom and told her what had happened. She was supportive and reassured me that I had done the right thing. “You don’t owe him anything,” she said firmly. “He made his bed, now he has to lie in it.”

As time went on, I tried to put the encounter behind me and focus on my own life. But the scars of abandonment ran deep, and it would take time to heal.

In the end, Jerry’s reappearance in my life only served to remind me of the strength and resilience that my mom and I had shown over the years. We didn’t need him then, and we didn’t need him now.