I told you the truth, and you lied.
You lied, not for her sake, but for your own, because you rely on her to give you purpose. You rely on her love and need for you to feel loveable and need-able, much as you once relied on me.
But now what? Lie to her? Or tell her the truth; that her father isn’t what you’ve accused me of being? That on the contrary, her father is a decent man who–though imperfect–would fly home with police in tow if only to make sure she is safe.
You took her, and look; I get it. You panicked. You worried. But you didn’t have to lie. I would never have taken her from you, nor will I now, because I know it would destroy you, and for all the bs we’ve been through, I still wouldn’t wish this misery and anger on you.
Maybe your Mom convinced you to do it. Maybe a lawyer. It doesn’t matter much anymore. I assume you pulled the trigger not understanding what you were doing. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this is what you wanted. Maybe this is what you were preparing for all along. I don’t know, but I don’t think this is what you wanted when you told me how you dreamed of watching our daughter be fathered in the way you had not been.
She will know me, and she will know my love for her. I will never seek to turn her against you, but she will, on her own, be smart enough to see your brokenness, even as you refuse to see it yourself. And then I will spend her adult years defending you; encouraging her to respect you despite her frustration with you.
Surely, it’s not that hard to imagine.
You are not a victim. Stop living from this lie. For your sake. For hers.