Sometimes, I think, it's easy to say "I'm a father." A signature on a birth certificate, a surname at the end of a name. But in reality, fatherhood is not just written on paper. It's a promise that is kept every day — in action, in word, in your presence at every important moment.
I was reminded of a close friend of mine. Let's call her Mara. She was quiet, not talkative, but I had known for a long time that she was carrying a heavy burden. They had been married for several years. Their marriage started out well. It seemed perfect — they had their own house, a car, a small business. But when their son arrived, cracks began to form that were not immediately noticeable.
Mara has been taking care of their son since birth. She is the one who watches over him when he has a fever, she is the one who teaches him the first words, she is the one who guides him every step of the way. While her husband, there is always an excuse to leave.
“Just work,” he says when he comes home at night. But why does he smell of alcohol? Why is there lipstick on his collar sometimes? He doesn't ask questions anymore. He's afraid to hear the answer he's been harboring in his gut for a long time.
Months passed, turning into years. I see Mara pushing a stroller alone, attending PTA meetings alone, waiting in line at the health center alone. Her daughter, growing up with no clear memories of her father. When I ask her, “Where is your father?” she always says, “He’s outside.”
Once, I asked Mara if it didn't hurt her that her husband was just a decoration in the family. She bowed her head, her voice low as she answered. “It hurts so much. But I'm afraid to tell him because he might distance himself even more.”
One night, when it was raining heavily, her husband still hadn't come home. Mara stayed up all night, holding the picture of the three of them — a picture that had once been full of promise, now was just a picture. Lifeless.
The next day, as they ate breakfast in silence, he chose to talk to her. He didn't shout. He didn't threaten. His voice was quiet but firm.
“I don't know where you always go. I won't ask who you're with. But I hope you understand, it's not enough that you send money home. That's not what your son needs. He's looking for you. I'm looking for you too.”
His wife was silent. Unable to look. He continued.
"When you're not here, it's like our child doesn't have a father anymore. I'm not taking you back to your world. But I hope you'll come back to our world at least once. If you can't be a father in action, don't expect to be called a father in her heart."
That was the first night I saw his wife cry in front of him. I don't know if it was out of shame or because she knew everything Mara said was true.
In the weeks that followed, he began to change. Not immediately. Not perfectly. But he began to show up on occasions. He was now attending their son's meetings. Gradually, the knowledge was formed that fatherhood should not just be written on paper — it should be done.
I often tell this to other friends of mine who are going through the same situation. Because it's true — sometimes it's better for a child to grow up lacking something than to grow up with a bad example that he sees every day. It's better to be a single mother who is strong than to have someone with you, but your presence is useless.
So if you're in this situation, don't be afraid to speak your truth. You don't have to shout to be heard. You don't have to get angry to feel the weight of your words.
So if you're in this situation, don't be afraid to speak your truth. You don't have to shout to be heard. You don't have to get angry to feel the weight of your words.
And remember: you are not just a mother. You are a person who deserves to be respected, loved, and appreciated — not just when she needs something, but every day, even when there is no occasion.
