Things started to change in my life when I turned ten—when my mother and father got divorced.
I was forced to live with my father and his new wife. The father I never truly loved during all those past years… and now I was expected to live with him, while leaving behind the one person who truly mattered—my mother.
Yes, my mother was the only person who truly mattered to me. As I began to become conscious of life around me, I started to understand—how much she was suffering.
How the man I was supposed to call my father would come home drunk, use violence, and hurt her.
That was the moment whatever little love I had left for him disappeared. From then on, I could only hate him for what he was doing.
Time passed, and living in that house with him and his new wife felt like punishment. Everything was cold—quiet in all the wrong ways. No warmth. No comfort. Just walls, rules, and silence.
I missed my mother every single day. Her voice. Her smile. The way she loved me—with her whole heart.
But now… all of that was gone.
Sadness and loneliness crept in, and before I knew it, my grades started to fall.
When my half-brother and sister started getting good grades, my father—already aware that mine weren't—gradually shifted all his focus to them and, for the most part, stopped investing in my education much.
I suppose it was bound to happen someday—it just happened earlier than I expected. Deep down, I always knew he was only investing in my education so I could be useful to him later, like earning money for him.
And when he saw no benefit in me anymore… he simply let me go.
I was still going to school, but only so he could keep up appearances—to make himself look like a decent father in the eyes of the world.
If it weren't for that, I'm sure he would've made me drop out the very day I failed a subject for the first time.
But for me, aside from paying the basic school fees, he did nothing else. I had no new notebooks, no proper school bag, and only two uniforms—both stitched up in places and barely holding together. And even those weren't washed often—just once a week, if my stepmother bothered to do it at all.
My classmates started to mock me—making fun of my clothes, my appearance…
And before I knew it, even the few friends I had began to drift away.
I became completely alone—no family, no friends. Just me.
The one good thing I still had was my mother's monthly visits. But with time, even that started to change. I began to doubt her too. Why did she leave me behind—with him?
I didn't want to think that way, but the question kept eating at me. If she really loved me… why didn't she fight harder to take me with her? Why did she leave me in a place where no one cared if I was hurting?
And when I turned fourteen, I finally gathered the courage to ask her during one of her visits: "Why did you leave me behind?"
That's when she told me everything.
And that's when she told me everything—the reason for the divorce, and why she had to leave me behind.
My father had cheated on her.
She said she had reached her limit. The pain, the beatings, and now the betrayal… she just couldn't take it anymore.
She told me she fought for custody, but the court sided with him. She lost. She said she never told me the full truth because she wanted me to be happy. She didn't want me growing up filled with anger and pain.
She hoped that if he was going to raise me, maybe—just maybe—he could change. And if he did, she didn't want me to hate him.
Even after everything he did, she still believed that if there was even a one-in-a-million chance he'd become a better father… I deserved that chance. I deserved a future without the weight of the truth.
Looking back, I understand. If she had told me sooner… even if he suddenly started acting like a real father, I probably would've never accepted it. I would've hated him even more. I would've been bitter, angry… maybe even broken.
I mean—how would you feel if the person you loved most disappeared, and the one who made her disappear was the one raising you?
But even with all her effort to protect me, I don't think my life would've turned out any different. Truth or not… the outcome was always the same.
There was never going to be a one-in-a-million chance.
My father's intentions were clear from the very beginning.
He never wanted to be a father to me. He chose me because I was a boy—because, to him, that made me "useful."
And when my grades dropped, he beat me. He cut off all support for my studies. The rest… you already know.
I'm fifteen now. High school starts tomorrow.
As expected, my father enrolled me in a rundown public all-boys school. The kind with poor teachers, broken desks, and no future. Meanwhile, my half-brother and sister attend private schools with everything they could ever need—new books, tablets, tutors.
But whatever. I already know what'll happen when my grades drop again.
Honestly, I don't even want to go. Not because it's a public school. Not because of the worn-out classrooms or the lack of teachers.
But because… my mother passed away just yesterday.
I cried for what felt like an eternity. I didn't stop because I moved on—I stopped because I hadn't eaten or drunk anything. My body just gave out. Even my throat refused to cry anymore.
I lay on the floor, weak and empty. No strength. No will. Only the tears continued to fall.
A month later, after my father beat me for "wasting his money"—money he never even spent on me—I finally went to school.
And the first thing that happened?
I got bullied.
If I weren't already this tired, this lonely—if I had any hope left—I might've fought back.
But I didn't. I just let it happen.
High school felt like hell. From the very first day… to the last.
Until my final year, when one of the bullies crossed a line I never thought anyone would.
He insulted my mother.
Somehow, he found out I lived with my stepmother. And with a smug grin, he dared to say:
"Your dad probably got sick of her and found someone better. Maybe she couldn't even satisf—"
I snapped.
I beat him unconscious before he could finish.
The story spread fast: I was the bully. He was the victim. No one cared about the truth.
No one ever did.
Especially not my father.
Actually, scratch that—I don't even consider him my father anymore. He's just a sperm donor.
The lowest kind of scum.
The result? He shut the door on any chance I had at further education and told me to start working instead.
A month later, he found me a job.
He made it clear: if I wanted to keep living under his roof, I had to start paying for it.
So I started working at a warehouse—packing boxes for hours, every day.
It was quiet. Repetitive. But for a while, it was okay. I managed to save up just enough to find a cheap apartment. Somewhere far from that place.
If I had to pay to live, I'd rather pay somewhere I didn't have to hear how worthless I was.
No more lectures about how my siblings were smarter. No more cold stares. No more insults.
I didn't leave a note. There was no one in that house worth saying goodbye to.
My stepmother. My father. My half-brother and sister. Not one of them would care.
And I didn't have any friends to say goodbye to either.
But once I moved out, he used his connections to get me fired.
So I had to found another job—closer to where I lived now.
And just like that, I began living alone.
Away from the house. Away from the people who never loved me. Away from the ones who were supposed to be my family.
I'm 22 now. Living in a small, rented apartment that feels more like a box than a home. Most days blur together. I work long hours at a grocery store, barely making enough to get by.
After leaving that house, not much changed.
I'm still struggling—just enough to survive and pay rent.
But at least I'm far away from my so-called father.
That's the one thing that's gotten better—I don't have to hear his crap every day.
Other than that? I don't have anyone close to me. Just a few coworkers I say "hi" or "hello" to—nothing more.
But I've pretty much gotten used to it.
So used to it, in fact, that the loneliness barely stings anymore.
"What...? Sir, but I've been working here for so long! You can't fire me. I'll go broke—please!"
"Sorry, but we have more staff than we need. We can't afford to keep you. Please understand."
"But sir…"
"I'm sorry. Please leave. I don't want to get security involved."
Tch… Of course it had to be me.
I knew the others had connections—some were friends with the owner.
As I walked back to my apartment, I couldn't help but think:
This is what it really means to be alone.
Time passed.
I'm 29 now. The years in between? Brutal.
After losing my grocery store job, I scraped by with labor work. Factories. Construction sites. Heavy lifting. Anything that would keep a roof over my head.
I applied to so many jobs… But every interview ended the same way: "Sorry, you're not qualified."
Why? Because I never finished high school.
I'm a dropout—with no diploma, no certifications, and no one to vouch for me.
Now, I work as an assistant delivery driver.
I don't drive—I just load and unload boxes for a small delivery truck. Six, seven hours a day. It's hard, but it pays.
And with the little money I saved up, I bought myself a camera.
I'm not a professional or anything, but after some time, I got the hang of it. Started taking small freelance jobs. Just enough to buy the occasional manga… recharge my TV… escape reality for a few hours.
Life hasn't been easy.
In two more months, I'll turn 30. And I might die a virgin.
Looking back, I wonder… how different would my life have been, if I had a normal family?
Not perfect. Not rich. Just… normal.
A mother who stayed with me. A father who loved me the way fathers should. And if I ever struggled with my studies… he would've helped me—not beat me. Not cast me aside just because he decided I was useless to him.
I wanted to live life to the fullest. But ever since I turned ten, everything changed.
Now, all I have are regrets. And endless "what ifs."
What if I hand a loving happy family?
What if I tried harder to make my father love me?
What if I had refused to live with him and gone with my mother instead?
What if I had focused on my studies? Let go of the past? Built something better?
My heart is full of regrets. Full of what ifs.
Maybe I should take a break.
Even the mind needs rest sometimes.
Now… where was that One Piece volume?
Oh, right. Chapter 1141.
Whoa… ha… man, this chapter is one of the best I've read in a while.
Heh…
The only place I can truly feel happy… is inside manga. Light novels. Fantasy.
Man, I wish…
"SKREEEEE—THUD!!"
"CRUNCHHH!!"
Ha...my head, it hurts, what happened to me after that? Where am I?
....
That life I had… it was nothing but hell.
No one to call a real family. No warmth. No love. The only person who truly cared—my mother—was pushed away because of him.
Because of the man who called himself my father.
Because of all that, my life became nothing but a trail of regrets and unanswered "what ifs"… all the way to my last breath.
But this—this is something else.
This is what a real family feels like.
If this really is a second chance—the dream I always wished for—then I hope it lasts.
Actually… scratch that.
If this really is a second chance, then I won't let it turn into another story of regrets and "what ifs."
I've already lived a life wondering what could've been… wondering if I had tried harder, if I had been loved back. But this time, I'll make sure.
I'll make sure their smiles, their love for each other—and maybe, if I'm lucky, even a little love for me—never fades away. I'll do everything I can to keep this family just the way I've seen it so far.
This time, I won't just survive. I'll build a life worth remembering—a home filled with love, and a family that lasts. A life truly lived to the fullest.