Hello Father,
Thank you dearly for writing after all these years.
Your apology is accepted, and everything is forgotten. Your decision to leave your family to fend in an old musty apartment isn’t a big deal.
Actually, it makes perfect sense!
My mom was growing older. She had started to get wrinkles on her once pristine face, and there was even a tooth missing from her gum. In short, she wasn’t a beauty anymore, so why stay? Why stay with her and take care of an annoying little brat. Yes, I understand completely.
As regards your question. Of course, I’d like to join you in Russia and help with your work. I’m your son, and as they say, the blood of family is thick enough to cover any wound.
No actually, fuck you. Did you really expect me to look past the hell you brought to my mother and me?
She screamed your name until her throat grew rasp and dry, but you kept walking. She crept towards you, scraping her knees against the rough gravel until they bled and turned purple, but you just kept on walking. Your eyes stayed fixed at some point beyond, and you didn’t care to look back at what you left behind.
She died there, you know. She lost the will to go on; she who was once a proud and passionate woman became but a shadow of her former self.
Here’s the funny thing, guess who had to take care of the empty shell that remained after you left. Me. Her son. Your son. And now you write to me, saying how sorry you are, that you wish to see me.
Well, let me tell you now. It’s too late. Once you decided that we weren’t worth your precious time, you were no longer worth mine.
If any shred of decency remains in that thick skull of yours, never try to contact me again.
Sincerely yours,
Tom
Benjamin Bratz 