Stories About Fathers Novels & Stories

Father knows. "You know why." "Fascinated still? It's just your curiosity, son. Curiosity of what could have been." "Aren't you curious too? On what could have been?" I teased. I was only joking, but father took it seriously. He gave me one hard look. I thought it was okay to talk about Astoria Vazquez, dad's past lover, but I was wrong. Father has told me their story, after accidentally watching them fight one time. It was after a business meeting with Vazquez Group, the two of them were left in the meeting hall. Astoria was crying while father stood there, stressed.

"At that time, it was raining very hard .. Dad always started his story with that sentence. Makes me feel like he's trying to tell a romantic story. Then my father will continue his story, which sometimes makes me stay up until the middle of the night. My father and Mr. Kalvin's meeting took place when they were very young. At that time my father was married to mother and mother was pregnant with me. Trust me those times were the saddest times for my father. He was fired from his job for being accused of stealing even though he never did that. My father even went to jail and since then, no one has wanted to hire him. When my mother was about to give birth, my father was completely flustered

he uttered. Her eyes widened then subsided. Carefully detaching her pink lips, Maxine asked, "My dad, are you close with him?” "Of course." It was weird. Maxine thinks it's very weird to hear this from another person. Main reason why is because she never heard a story about dad mom from her mom. "My mom never told me a story about my dad," Maxine murmured. Lanceil’s hand on Maxine tightened. "But I'm sure that your mom loved him so much, as much as he loved her.”

I thought about what it would feel like to have him buried deep inside me with his fingers curling around my hair. Roderick was close to sixty, but age had nothing on him. He was built like a god, with a body so beautifully crafted that it left me with a throbbing core whenever I caught a glimpse of it. And his face? That perfectly sculpted face? I could stare at him all day. He was my father's best friend, they were friends for close to thirty years before my father died of a heart attack. He had agreed to let me to stay with him since I had no other relatives and my college was just thirty minutes away.

WHAT HIS FATHER KNEW Her mother is telling them the story of twenty years ago when she was younger and when she had a different life and when she had dreams and hopes and ambitions and when she was struggling in her own marriage and when she felt disconnected and alone and when she met Dominic's father and something shifted in her understanding of what life could be. She's explaining that Dominic's father was a different man back then and that he was struggling with his own marriage and his own need for control and his own inability to love his family in healthy ways and that he came to her for help and for understanding and for a moment of connection that wasn't possessive or controlling or

Her mother said simply he was never coming back. Badette couldn’t have cared less about her father and, if anybody asked, she just told them he had already passed away. Sometimes, when she was feeling playful and wanted to add some shock value, she’d make up a story about her father being in prison. He might as well be for all his missed child support but it was quite common for Filipino fathers to run away from responsibility and just vanish from the face of the earth. Good luck hunting them down and squeezing money out of them. Many single moms were left alone to fend for themselves and their brood.

I managed, my voice betraying the sorrow that clung to my every word. His gaze held mine, a silent exchange of emotions that transcended words. In those fading eyes, I saw a mixture of love, regret, and a father's silent plea for understanding. I couldn't help but think of the untold stories that lay hidden beneath the lines etched on his face—stories of a life lived, battles won and lost, and the weight of leadership that had shaped him into the man I called Dad.

"Tell me, what kind of man forces his own mother to end him? What do you think your father was like?" My chest tightened, breaths coming in ragged gasps as tears welled in my eyes. That fucking woman, his own mother, knew these monsters were responsible for his death. My father... he didn't even have the luxury of a mother's love. Instead, he had monsters for family. "Monsters..." I spat, tears streaming down my cheeks. "You're all fucking monsters! My dad was innocent—never harmed a soul in his life. He dedicated himself to his people. All he knew was love, and you—"

she asked him with a frown. He sighed. “Your mommy didn’t have wonderful parents.” He told her. “Were they mean to her?” she asked her father, looking at him. “It’s complicated sweety. I’ll tell you when you’re older.” He told her. “Okay. What about your mommy and daddy?” she asked. “I don’t know who my mommy and daddy are.” He told her. “Why not?” she asked. “Okay, enough questions, little miss. The stories you’re asking for are not happy ones. You should only hear and see good and pretty things when you are young. I’ll tell you the sad stories when you are older.”

Still, they are nothing more than a moneymaking scum bag in their own families. I respect and love all doctors in the world, but the only feelings I have are sadness, frustration, disappointment, and anger when it comes to my own father. That’s not because he had to spend more time in the hospital to help others, which is one of the noblest things a human can do, nor is it because, instead of promoting my dreams, he was teaching others to dream. But he couldn’t even do the most fundamental of fatherly duties, which is to love and protect his own child. I always hear tales from my customers’ children about how their father catches the beast at night so they can sleep comfortably. My dad, on t