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I’ve heard you say sorry a million times. You say it when you bump into me, when you don’t hold the door open, when you don’t realize I’ve been standing right next to you. You say it all the time. I’ve never heard someone say sorry more than you have. It’s almost like you’re always doing something that needs apologizing for. My dad used to apologize a lot. He’d come home from work late with an apology. He’d leave early with an apology. He’d miss my game and apologize later. My dad was always apologizing. Until one day he left and didn’t come back. I never got an apology for that. Apologies have meant nothing to me ever since he left. You could be deeply, sincerely, insanely sorry for the smallest thing, and I wouldn’t believe you.
My mom told me one day this would all go away, and that one day I’ll be able to look at everyone with a smile again. That was ten years ago, and I still can’t accept anyone’s apology. My mom has apologized for my dad leaving hundreds of times. I’ll never accept my mother’s apologies or my friends or strangers who just bump into me on the street. I’ll never believe them because of what my father did. My mom and I are doing great, just me and her, and a part of me is glad my father left. I’m happy he left us. He could come back with the grandest apology anyone has ever heard, and I still wouldn’t believe him. You remind me a lot of my father. And it’s been in the back of my mind since you first apologized to me. I can’t have another person like my father in my life. So, no, I don’t accept your apology, and I never will.