Day 92.

"I've been coming here every month for 10 years. I've sat in that chair every month for 10 years. I've ordered the exact same meal, the same dessert for 10 years. I have cried myself to sleep. I've hated you. I've hated everything you made me. Sad, insecure, lonely, untrusting, angry. 

But I still came here hoping that some day you would remember me. Hoping that you had beautiful memories of our time here. Not believing that you did. I imagined you living with your other family, the better one you must've left me for, the one you loved more. I imagined you happy and never thinking of me.

But I still came here hoping I was wrong. I dreamed of what I would say to you. I envisioned your face as I lashed out at you, releasing all these years of pent up hostility. I'd hoped to make you cry. It would never equal how much you made me cry, but it would be a start. I'd hear your apology, and I'd see us hugging and moving forward like it never happened. I thought I could be happy again. 

But none of that will happen. Seeing you has not made me happy. It's made me sad. For you. Looking in your eyes, I can see you have not lived the happy life I pictured. 

There's nothing for me to say that will make it better. There's nothing for you to say that will make it better. So, I'm going to leave. I won't be back next month. Don't look for me. 

Good bye, father."