34 years. 34 years. You had 34 years worth of days you could have turned it all around and been a dad. You could have been there for me. You could have gotten help. Been a husband. Been a grandfather. I thought I was well adjusted. I thought I was okay and strong and that it didn't hurt anymore. And then you took away any opportunity. You took away any extra day. Any extra chance. This was the last time, in a long line of times, that you walked out on me. And I'm mad. And inside me is a kid that doesn't understand why you couldn't just be a fucking dad. And why you left them letters and not a single word to your kids. I'm so angry at you.

Wherever you land, I hope you love yourself, because you never could do it here, let alone love anyone else.