I'm sorry, Dad.

Okay, here goes nothing. I'm writing this because… well, because I messed up. Big time. And I don’t know how to fix it, or even if I *can* fix it. It’s about my dad. And lying. And money. Ugh. Just typing that makes my stomach churn.

Dad always worked hard. Like, *really* hard. He was a carpenter. Built houses, mostly. Up before dawn, home after dark, smelling of sawdust and sweat. Mom worked too, but Dad was the main breadwinner. He never complained, not really. He just did it. Because that’s what dads do, right? Provide.

We never had a lot of money. Hand-me-down clothes, cheap holidays (camping, usually), that kind of thing. But we always had food on the table and a roof over our heads. And Dad always made sure we had what we *needed*. Even if it meant he went without.

When I got to college, things got… complicated. I got a partial scholarship, which was amazing. But it didn't cover everything. There were still tuition fees, books, living expenses… It added up. Dad said he’d help as much as he could. And he did. He took on extra jobs, worked weekends, basically killed himself to make sure I could stay in school.

And that’s where the guilt kicks in, because what I did next was… unforgivable, I think. I started gambling. Stupid, right? I know. A friend introduced me to online poker. Said it was easy money. At first, it was. I won a few small pots. Nothing major, but enough to get me hooked. I started spending more and more time playing. Skipping classes, neglecting my studies. And losing. A lot.

I started using the money Dad sent me for tuition to cover my gambling debts. Telling him the books were more expensive than I thought, or that there was a new ‘mandatory’ lab fee. He never questioned it. Just sent more money. God, I feel sick just writing this.

It spiraled out of control so fast. I was lying to everyone – my parents, my friends, myself. I kept thinking I could win it all back. Just one big hand, one lucky break. But it never happened. I just kept digging myself deeper into a hole.

Eventually, I got caught. The college sent a letter home saying I was failing most of my classes and that my tuition was overdue. Dad called me, his voice shaking. He asked me what was going on. I tried to lie again, but I couldn’t. The words just wouldn’t come out. I broke down and told him everything. Every lie, every loss, every stupid, selfish decision.

He was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost…dead. He said he was disappointed. That he trusted me. That he’d sacrificed so much to give me this opportunity, and I’d thrown it all away.

He paid the overdue tuition. He helped me get back on track with my studies (after a very long, angry lecture). He didn’t kick me out. But things were never the same. There was this… distance between us. This unspoken tension. He never really trusted me again. And honestly, I don’t blame him.

I graduated, eventually. Got a good job. I paid him back every penny I stole (with interest!). I tried to make amends. But I know I can never truly undo the damage I caused. I broke his heart. I betrayed his trust. And for what? A stupid game.

He’s getting older now. He retired a few years ago. His hands are gnarled and worn from years of hard work. He doesn’t do as much carpentry anymore. Mostly just putters around in the garden. I visit him as often as I can. We talk about the weather, the news, the grandkids. But we never talk about… that. The gambling. The lies. The money. It’s like this big, invisible elephant in the room.

I want to tell him I’m sorry. Really, truly sorry. Not just for the money, but for the pain I caused him. For letting him down. For being such a selfish, irresponsible idiot. I want to tell him I’ll never do anything like that again. That I’ve learned my lesson. That I’m a better person now. But I can’t. The words just won’t come out. I’m afraid of what he’ll say. Or worse, what he *won’t* say.

So, I’m writing this instead. Hoping that somehow, somewhere, he’ll know. Dad, if you ever see this, I’m so, so sorry. I love you. And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you.

I still feel the guilt. Every single day. It’s like a weight on my chest. I hope one day I can truly forgive myself. And I hope, even more, that one day he can forgive me too. I need to find a way to actually say it. Maybe this is the first step. I don't know.

Thank you for listening. Or, you know, reading. It helps. A little.