Hatred

How are you?

        I glare at the letter in my hands, my fingers wrinkling the edges of the paper. There's just one page, and the words don't even cover half of it. 

        "Hatred," my father used to tell me, "is a powerful and terrible thing. It can change people, just like how it changed your mother." I don't care about that anymore, though. His words aren't going to stop me from hating a stupid piece of paper. 

Everything's going pretty smoothly here in New York. Maybe you could come to visit for the holidays if your mother agrees. 

        Tch. Like that would ever happen. Mom hates his guts. I guess it was only a matter of time before I did too.

By the way, if you do visit, you could show Ellie your gymnast skills, those flips and tricks you like to do. 

        I grit my teeth. I am not going to entertain that woman. Even if "She's your step-mom, Mia," or "We should all get along as a family, okay?" And flips and tricks? What the hell? Don't go downgrading gymnastics to "flips and tricks," Dad. 

Tell your mother I said hi, okay?

Love, 

Dad

        That did it. I tore the paper into shreds, scattering pieces all around the living room floor.

        "ARGH!" My shout echoed throughout the entire house, once again reminding me that I'm all alone, since Mom's working. Tears slipped down my cheeks, and I blinked away at them furiously, to no avail. Love? Yeah, right. I didn't matter enough for him to write even half a page. Ever since I blocked him on my phone and email months ago, he only sends this one letter, and that's saying something—not love, that's for sure. 

        "Dad..." I whisper bitterly, hands clenching into fists. 

"I hate you." 

• • •

Author’s Note: Thanks for reading! Have a nice day!