My Runaway Dad.

What will you do if you encounter your father after thirteen years?

The question flashed through my mind in the split second I saw him walking out of the restaurant. And the answer was the opposite of what every lovely daughter should do. Thirteen years… I waited just to see his face one more time. Thirteen years… I cried wondering why he left me a night before my birthday. And for thirteen years I had blamed myself for his departure. My mother's illness. Everything.

When a daughter sees her father after a long time, she rushes to him with wide open arms and a big happy smile on her face and embraces him warmly. She tells him she missed him and is glad to see him again. Her heart will be filled with extreme joy and happiness because after all he was her father. As everyone knows, a daughter should always love her father regardless of everything. But as I stood up and ran after my father, I wasn't running to hug him and tell him how I missed him. And my heart wasn't filled with joy and happiness. Instead I felt void emptiness. I needed to know why he truly left us, he was the least he owed us. For a moment, I wanted to believe he had a valid reason for what he did—he had to have a reasonable alibi. Then, maybe I could look at him once more and see the father he once was to me. Maybe… he could come back home and we could be a whole family again.

I dashed to the glass door and yanked it open. I rushed outside and paused to search for him in the midst of the crowd. I looked around. My chest heaved and my breath was hot. A wave of warmth overwhelmed me, I took a deep breath to calm my nerves.

Calm down, Annie. Regardless of the pain and hurt, you need to talk to him. You need to know why he…

From the corner of my eyes, I noticed my father walking with the pregnant woman towards the car park of the restaurant. I squinted as my attention focused on him. He didn't change a bit: he still had the same haircut Mom preferred, that same broad shoulders I loved holding whenever he gave me a piggyback ride.The same walking posture. The same of everything.

He stopped beside a car and dipped his hand into his pocket in search of a car keg.

I approached him. "Father!"

I came to a halt when I got to him, his back was still facing me. "Father!" I hollered. "Please wait!"

The pregnant woman beside him stopped smiling and gaped at me. Then, she questioned my father with her widened eyes. He stiffened and his hands were still in his pocket. He turned to look at me. My breath hitched when I saw his face. I couldn't help but feel disappointed. It turned out the man wasn't my father, his facial features didn't resemble my Dad's. And it turned out he was someone else.

The man frowned slightly. "Sorry, do I know you?"

I stared at him for a while before I muttered, "I'm sorry," I bit my lip as I studied the man. I really wanted him to be my father. "I mistake you for someone else."

The man nodded and held the woman's hand. I assumed she was his wife.

I pointed back at the restaurant. "I will go now," I apologized, "once again, I'm so sorry."

He took a deep breath and waved his hand to dismiss my apology. "No problem," he said.

The pregnant woman placed a hand on her jutting stomach before looking at me. "Are you okay, dear?"

Tears pooled my eyes and I shuddered as I fought back the tears.

"It's okay," I said. "I think I should just… Leave."

She took a step forward. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay. Thanks for asking," I said and left them.

It surprised me to realize I actually still missed my father. I plopped down on the bench at the front of the restaurant and wiped the tears from my face.