Dear Dad,

It felt so strange writing the opening of this letter. I haven't spoken that word in nearly seven months. It hurts too much to say your name, to think of all the times I ever said, "I love you, Dad," while knowing that I will never say those words again.

I've imagined what it would be like to see you again. The scene has been played out so many times in my head that it feels almost like a real memory, but fortunately, I know that it is not real. I'm not sure I want to know how our reunion would end.

I still don't understand why you would choose to hurt me. My mother, my friends, my psychiatrist, they all say the same thing. “Pornography is an addiction, Abby,” or, my personal favorite, “He couldn’t help it.” I laugh at these blatant attempts to justify your crime. Paying to view child pornography is not akin to alcoholism, or drug addiction. So why then, did you choose an addict’s way to die? Suicide is never the solution, but understandably, some people get so low that they see it as their only way out. You were not depressed, just simply a coward who couldn’t fess up to their crime. Killing yourself seemed to be the only escape.

But you didn’t die. You are still living your life in the miserable old basement of your parents’ house, still going on shopping expeditions and restaurant outings with my family. Everybody has accepted you, and welcomed you into their lives. Of course, one’s compassion is not limitless as all poets and writers claim. In order to make room for you, something had to be discarded. Turns out the most logical choice was me. Funny how life works like that.

Oddly enough, I’m doing reasonably okay without you. I don’t need you to be happy. With the help of my mother and my closest friends, I have learned to deal with this situation to the best of my abilities. Now there is only one thing left to say.

Goodbye forever,
Your daughter