Page 10

Murphy

The last year has been tough—real tough.

The kind of tough that makes you question everything you’ve ever done in your life to get to that point.

It was my cross to bear, and I would bear it happily and for the rest of my days if it meant that eventually, I could be the dad and man my daughter had once seen me as.

As long as I got to come home to my wife and family, I would bear whatever I needed to.

And though it was slow, we were getting there; we were making progress.

It had taken over six months for her to speak to me again, and even then, it was more like a grunt of acknowledgement here and there.

Let me be clear, six months for a teenager not to utter a single word in your direction was probably some kind of world record.

I saw my baby girl shut down right in front of me—it was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through, and I’d lost the love of my life once.

Something about your child oozing disdain for you from their very essence was debilitating.

Odette rotated from wanting to shake Lux out of her bitterness and grudge to understanding because she had once felt all those same emotions.

She had admitted in our therapy session that it was hard for her not to place blame on me again.

It felt like she was going through the betrayal again but through the eyes of her daughter, and she felt weak.

She felt like she had betrayed some sisterhood and it was hard for her, and some days she struggled with her forgiveness.

I hated that I ever put us in this position, and I never blamed Odette in her struggle—I would never blame her for that. I listened as she cried over it again, as she screamed at me for the first time in seven years, her hands clenched into fists at our last session.

“Please don’t ask me how I feel right now,” she spat at me

“It might help if you…”

“Fine, fuck you, Murphy. Fuck you for putting us in this position in the first place. It’s the hardest part of my life, being so helplessly in love with someone who tossed me away, who tossed our family away.

And now I have to sit here and explain to my daughter that she should forgive you because I did, but it’s a choice I make every day.

I choose to forgive you and look past what happened.

Every day, I make that choice and it’s not always the easiest; in fact, it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

How can I ask my daughter to do that? What if she doesn’t want to?

That’s her choice, and I refuse to take her choices away. ”

I broke that day. I knew I’d pay for my mistakes for the rest of my life; I just never thought Odette would wake up every day bearing the weight of her choice like I did.

We started to heal again after she let me have it.

I realized there wasn’t anything I could do but be here, just like I always have been.

Eventually, Lux saw through the hurt; she saw the love and devotion her mom and I raised her with, and she saw how much we loved each other.

She saw how much we would always love each other, and she began to understand and forgive.

Which led me to where I was right now, sitting with Lux during our weekly silent dinner date that our therapist recommended and Odette adamantly agreed that maybe we would get further if we had one on one time, which led us to now, a year and a month since Lux had found out.

“I’m tired of hating you,” Lux finally whispered to me over her plate of spaghetti. It had been so long since I heard her string a full sentence my way.

“Baby girl…” I couldn’t help but choke on my words. Hearing her admit that she hated me felt like she was stabbing my already bleeding heart.

“I thought I’d ask you why, but the why doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“If it matters to you, then it matters, Lux.”

“I don’t think I want to know,” she whispered as tears streamed down her face.

I wanted to wrap her up in my arms and squeeze all my sorrys into her so she could carry them for the rest of her life.

If there was anything she could take away from this, I wanted her to know how damn sorry I was, even knowing it wouldn’t fix anything.

“Do you regret it?” she barely got the words out.

“Every day, with every breath I take.”

“I’m tired of hating you. It’s exhausting,” she said again, then went back to eating her spaghetti. And for the first time in a year, it felt like there might be light at the end of this tunnel.

“I’ll always be here for you kid, even if you don’t want me to be.”

Always.