My Son Abandoned Me for Years, But Now He’s Back to Ask for Money, “Can’t You Just Get Over It? I Need This Money, Mom.”

For years, I had chased after my 24 year old son who wanted nothing to do with me. 

It started when his mother remarried. The new husband, a guy who had a lot of opinions but no real understanding of our past, told him things like:

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“Your father doesn’t care about you.” 

“He’s too busy chasing money to be there for you.”

“Your dad only thinks about himself, he abandoned you for money.”

Both my ex-wife and her husband made him think I didn’t care, that I was too selfish to be there for him.

The anger that built up in me was unbearable. He cut me off because of things that weren’t even true, and the more I tried to reach him, the more distant he became. It hurt more than I could put into words.

But I moved on. I rebuilt my life, found love again, and had three beautiful kids. 

And now, after everything, here he was, flooding my inbox with emails, apologies, and stories about a grandson I’d never met.

Dad,

I know I’ve hurt you. For years, I believed the lies—thinking you didn’t care and chose everything over me. I was wrong.

I’ve got a son now, and I don’t want him to grow up without knowing his grandfather. I’m sorry for pushing you away. If you can’t forgive me, I understand, but I’d like the chance to make things right.

—Your Son

Suddenly, I matter again? Now he wants to talk? I had drafted my response. A final message to close the door forever.

Dear Son,

For years, I waited. I stood at the edge of your life, hoping you'd turn around. You didn’t. You let me disappear.

I tried. God knows I tried. I showed up. I called. I sent gifts. And every single time, you shut me out. Do you know what that does to a father? 

Do you know what it’s like to grieve a son who is still alive?

Now, after all these years, you want to see me. But I’m not the same man you left behind. I fought to rebuild myself from the wreckage you had no interest in saving me from. And I will not risk losing that for the sake of your guilt.

I don’t hate you. I don’t even blame you. But I cannot—will not—go back.

So, let this be the last. Live your life, and I’ll live mine.

Goodbye.

—Dad

I hadn’t sent it yet. But I would. I was sure of it.

Then my wife found out.

Wife: "You actually wrote this?"

Me: "Yes."

She stared at the screen, mouth slightly open. "And you’re going to send it?"

I crossed my arms. "I have nothing left to say to him."

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Wife: "How can you say that? He’s trying—"

Me: "He didn’t try for fifteen years."

Wife: "He was a child."

Me: "And now he’s a man. And I’ve made my peace."

She shook her head. "No. You haven’t."

Me: "You don’t get it. You didn’t see me after the divorce. You didn’t watch me fall apart. My own son hated me. Do you know what that does to a person?"

She softened. "I know it broke you. But cutting him off now won’t fix it."

I clenched my jaw. "This conversation is over."

Me: "You weren’t there, you don’t understand what he put me through."

Wife: "Then help me understand."

Me: "At first, I gave him space. I thought… maybe he just needed time. But weeks turned into months. He ignored my texts, wouldn’t answer my calls. I sent letters—handwritten letters—just so he could see my words in my own handwriting. Nothing."

Wife: "Maybe—"

Me: "No, let me finish." I took a breath and continued. "I showed up, okay? I didn’t just disappear. I came to his soccer games, I stood on the sidelines, hoping he’d look at me. He never did. He’d see me and turn his back, walk off with his friends like I was nothing. I still clapped for him. Still cheered. He didn’t care."

Wife: "He was just a kid."

Me: "A kid? He knew exactly what he was doing. You think he didn’t know how many nights I stood outside my ex’s house, waiting, hoping he'd come out and just talk to me?"

Wife: "Did you ever try to make him come with you?"

I shook my head. "I could’ve. The custody agreement said I had every right. But I didn’t want to drag him kicking and screaming. I wanted him to want me in his life."

Me: "I kept trying. I sent him birthday gifts. He never opened them. I mailed Christmas presents—my ex sent them back. 

I swallowed hard, my throat tightening.

Me: "Then, when he turned sixteen, he sent me a message. The only one he ever sent."

I pulled out my phone, opened the old message, and handed it to her. 

Her eyes scanned the screen, and I saw the color drain from her face.

Wife (reads old message): "'Stop showing up. I don’t want you at my games. I don’t want you in my life. You made your choice, now I’m making mine.'”

She set the phone down carefully.

Me: "He cut me off. Completely. I was dead to him."

She didn’t say anything, but I could see the wheels turning in her head.

Me: "I had to let go. I had to move on, or it was going to destroy me. And now—now that he’s grown, now that he has a kid—suddenly, I matter again? Now he wants to talk?"

I shook my head.

Me: "Where was that energy when I was breaking my back to be in his life? Where was it when I sat outside his house, crying, because my own son wouldn’t look at me? And you want me to just… open my arms and welcome him back in?"

[Phone buzzed]

Wife: “Is it him again?”

I didn’t answer. I just tapped the screen and opened it. My wife watched me closely as my eyes scanned the words.

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“Dad, I know you’re ignoring me, and I don’t blame you. But please, I just want to talk. Even if you yell at me, even if you tell me you never want to see me again—just let me hear your voice. 

I need to make things right. If not for me, then for my son. I don’t want him to grow up without a grandfather just because I was a stupid kid who didn’t know better. Please, Dad. Just one conversation. That’s all I’m asking for.”

I set the phone down on the table, exhaling sharply.

Wife: “What did he say?”

I slid the phone over to her, letting her read it for herself. She covered her mouth with her hand as she finished, then looked at me with glassy eyes.

Wife: “He’s begging, honey.”

Me: I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Yeah, well, I begged too.”

Wife: “This isn’t the same, and you know it.”

Me: Slams the phone down "You don’t get it. You weren’t there. You didn’t see me after the divorce. You didn’t watch me fall apart. My own son hated me. Do you know what that does to a person?"

Wife: Softly "I know it broke you. But cutting him off now won’t fix it."

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Me: Voice rising in frustration "You don’t understand! You didn’t see how many times I tried—how many years I wasted. 

How can you sit there and tell me it’s all going to be okay when he never gave a damn about me? 

He never even looked at me. Not once. I was invisible."

Wife: Reaching out, her voice calm but firm "I’m not saying you have to be ready right now to meet him or even forgive him today. 

You don’t have to do it on anyone else’s timeline. But shutting the door completely... that could be something you’ll regret."

Me: Gripping the edge of the table, trying to contain my anger "But you don’t get it, do you? You weren’t there. 

You didn’t see the years I spent alone, begging for my own son’s attention. 

And now he wants to come back? He thinks everything is fine just because he’s got a kid? It doesn’t work that way!"

Wife: "You don’t have to let him in right now. Maybe not ever. But what you’re doing—cutting him off entirely—it’s like burning the bridge, and sometimes, we don’t need to burn bridges, even if we can’t cross them yet. 

Let him know that the door isn’t completely closed, that you’re still open to talking, even if it’s not today."

Me: Pauses, looking down at the message on my phone, torn "I don’t know... I’ve been waiting for so long. I’m tired of waiting."

Wife: Gently "I know, but what if this is your chance to show him that you’re still willing to try, even if it’s just a little? 

You don’t have to let him back into your life all at once. But maybe... maybe don’t make it impossible for him to try again, even if it’s a slow start."

Me: Sighs deeply "It’s hard. I’ve built a life, a new life, and it’s like he’s just showing up and asking for everything."

Wife: "I understand. But sometimes, people mess up, and sometimes, they grow. You don’t have to trust him right away, but maybe... just leave a sliver of hope. For both of you."

Me: Looks at the phone again, conflicted "And if I regret it? If I let him back in and it all falls apart again?"

Wife: "Then you’ll deal with it. But at least you’ll know you didn’t close the door completely. You didn’t burn that bridge, just in case he’s ready to cross it one day."

And that day I learned that sometimes, the most painful wounds come from the people we love the most. 

But forgiveness doesn’t always mean forgetting—it’s about finding the strength to leave the door open, even if we don’t know if we’re ready to walk through it. 

Healing takes time, but the choice to rebuild what was broken should never be taken lightly.

This story reflects one perspective and is shared to spark discussion and connection. While inspired by real situations, some details may have been altered for privacy and clarity.

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