You did­n’t know it, but for years I’ve come close to burn­ing the bridge with you. It was a heavy step to take, because in doing so, I knew that I would nev­er be able to go back on such a dras­tic deci­sion.

I appre­ci­ate all the finan­cial sup­port you’ve pro­vid­ed. It’s been more than I can ask for. Unfortunately, what I want­ed and need­ed the most was emo­tion­al sup­port.

I’ve always played the role of the sub­mis­sive son. Your boy who’s always done what you want­ed and agreed with what you said. When we exchanged tears on the phone in August, I let you know how poor­ly I was treat­ed grow­ing up. I’ve always put up with it, but the way you act­ed last week was the straw that broke the camels back. I keep giv­ing you a chance, over and over. Seeing you over those few days was the last one. Even if you say now that you can change, the risk isn’t worth it. The poten­tial mis­ery, frus­tra­tion, and anguish you may cause me aren’t worth it.

Normally, I would be sen­si­tive about the tim­ing — the fresh divorce, the tran­si­tion — but I don’t care any­more. I’ve put my feel­ings aside my whole life. You pushed me too far, and now I have to con­sid­er myself.

Don’t con­tact me again. Not even if some­one dies. Any calls, mes­sages, e‑mails will be ignored. This is not an easy or a brash deci­sion for me, a deci­sion I’ve made after cool­ing off and calm­ing down, but from my point of view it’s for the best.

From now on, I don’t have a moth­er.

And you don’t have a son.