A Father's Dilemma

They betrayed him.

My mother. My sisters.

Turned their backs on his will like whispers in the wind.

I didn’t hate them for sharing—no.

I loved them for their courage,

But the disrespect? That cut deep.

And I swore, with a fist clenched tight,

My family would never bear the same weight.

My daughters…

They’ll fear me.

But they’ll respect me too.

Strength isn’t a choice—it’s a rule in my house.

But fear?

Fear without love is just chains.

So, I’ll teach them to survive,

Help my wife rise,

Build a family unlike the one I knew.

Still—there’s a difference.

A clear divide.

My son stands where my daughters can’t.

I hug him,

Tell him I miss him when he’s gone.

But the girls?

Their place is somewhere else—

Another family, another home.

They crave what he has.

Not the future I secure, not the legacy I carve—

But the affection he gets, the care he breathes in like air.

I see it.

I feel it in their silent stares,

But I don’t care.

Their love, their respect—

I don’t crave it,

But I demand it.

It’s owed. It’s duty.

And my son?

He can do no wrong.

He hits them; he disrespects them—

But they must’ve done something to deserve it.

If not?

They’re older, wiser—they should know better.

Boys will be boys, I’ve been told,

And I’ve believed it,

Because it’s easier than questioning myself.

Friends…

They’ve made comments about my daughters,

Inappropriate words hanging heavy in the air.

But that’s how men talk, right?

I won’t burn bridges over their offended feelings.

But once—

Once, they said the same about my son.

I cut them off like dead weight.

It’s different, I reasoned.

He’s a man.

Men don’t get disrespected.

Daughters?

They laugh at graves, they say.

I’ve seen their love, their respect,

But the fear of betrayal gnaws at me like an old wound.

Is it fear if I’ve already decided?

Decided they’re cold, heartless—destined to leave?

I do my duty,

A father’s role.

I protect my son,

Build his future brick by brick.

The daughters?

They’ll find their own way, their own families.

And me?

I’ll be a distant shadow in their lives.

But my son?

He’s my blood, my name.

The only legacy I need.

This is my truth,

Twisted, flawed, raw.

A father's love—divided by tradition,

Warped by what I saw.