We only put up with you out of pity,” my daughter screamed and the next day I disappeared leaving a trace. My own daughter had yelled at me that they only put up with me out of pity and that night I decided that I would never again be a burden to anyone. It was Thursday afternoon when my daughter Beatriz destroyed me with those words.

We were in his kitchen arguing over some silly thing about the television. I had turned on the news and she wanted to watch a series. Dad, enough is enough. We only put up with you out of pity. Out of pity, do you understand? Her husband Andrés was there, my two granddaughters too, and no one said anything, no one defended me, there was only silence and glances at the ground.

My name is Francisco Herrera, I am 74 years old and I worked 48 years as a plumber in Madrid. My wife Pilar died 9 years ago of cancer. Since then I have lived alone in Malasaña, where I raised Beatriz with all my love. She is 40 years old, she is a teacher and lives with Andrés and my granddaughters in Las Rosas.

Since Pilar died, he went to eat at Beatriz’s house on Sundays. He always received me with an annoyed face. Beatrice prepared food reluctantly and always found excuses to get up from the table. The granddaughters greeted me quickly and disappeared with their cell phones. For years I endured those uncomfortable Sundays thinking it was normal.

He told me that at least I had a place to go, that I was not completely alone. But that Thursday I understood that he had been lying to me for years. The fight started because I arrived an hour early. I had gone to the doctor and wanted to tell them about some worrying tests. I needed him to accompany me because I can’t hear well anymore. When I rang the doorbell, I saw in his face that he had arrived at the wrong time.

“Hello, Dad,” he said without a smile. We had not arranged for today. I explained to him that it was important, but he let me pass with a bad face. When I told him about the tests, he sighed. Dad, it’s nonsense of yours. Doctors always ask for more tests. His answer hurt me. I grabbed the remote and turned on the news to distract myself.

He took it from me and said, “Dad, I’m going to watch my series. You can watch the news at home.” I just wanted to spend some time with you,” I told him. “We haven’t spoken in a long time.” And that’s when it exploded. He got up and shouted at me, “We only put up with you out of pity. You come here every Sunday as if you were the owner. Andrés doesn’t want you here.

The girls don’t pay attention to you and I don’t know what to do with you anymore.” I sat there with trembling hands. I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t say anything. I got up slowly, grabbed my jacket and left. He didn’t even walk me to the door. That night I didn’t sleep a wink. I stayed in my kitchen drinking tea and thinking about everything I had done wrong.

I went through years of Sundays putting up with long faces, of birthdays where I brought gifts and no one thanked me, of Christmases where I was left alone while they went on a trip and I understood that I was right. They put up with me out of pity. That hurt me more than any illness. At 6 a.m. on Friday I made the most important decision of my life.

I got up, showered, had a slow breakfast and took the suitcase out of the closet. I packed clothes for a week, my medicines, the important papers and the 8000 € I had now. I didn’t leave a note, I didn’t say goodbye, I just disappeared. I took the first bus to Valencia. During the 4 hours of travel I looked at the Spanish fields and thought that maybe it was better that way.

Maybe it was time to stop being a burden, maybe it was time to live without apologizing for existing. When I arrived in Valencia, I walked through unknown streets, breathing an air that smelled of the sea. For the first time in years I felt free. I found the Hotel Mediterraneo, a simple place near the beach. During the first few days I walked along the boardwalk without talking to anyone.

It was strange to be there without anyone knowing who I was. In Madrid I was known as Francisco the plumber, Pilar’s widower, Beatriz’s father. Here he was just another retiree enjoying the sea. On the fourth day I met Manuel, the owner of the café where I had breakfast. He was a 65-year-old man from Seville who had also arrived in Valencia fleeing family problems.

“Sometimes a man needs to start from scratch,” he told me as he poured me the latte. “And there’s nothing wrong with that.” Those words changed my perspective completely. At the end of that week I made a final decision. He was not going to return to Madrid. I wasn’t going to call Beatriz apologizing for leaving.

If she thought she could only put up with me out of pity, then she wouldn’t have to put up with me anymore. It was time to live for myself, without having to justify myself to anyone. I found a small apartment near the beach. It had the basics, kitchen, living room, bedroom and bathroom. Nothing fancy, but clean, quiet, and completely mine. I signed the contract for one year and started a new life that I never imagined possible.

Months passed and my new routine was consolidated. I signed up for water gymnastics at the municipal swimming pool, where I met other retirees who, like me, had decided to take care of their health. I also signed up for a painting workshop on Tuesday afternoons and a book club that met on Fridays. For the first time in years I had an agenda of my own, activities that I had chosen, not imposed by family obligations.

I made real friends, people who appreciated me for who I was, not out of obligation. It was a simple life, but I liked it. There was no screaming, no annoyed faces, no pretending to be okay when I wasn’t. Every day was mine, every decision was made by me, every moment of peace I had earned with my courage.

After 6 months, the baker told me, “Francisco, yesterday a woman came asking for you. He said it was his daughter. Beatriz had come to look for me. It took him all that time to realize that he had disappeared. A week later my doorbell rang at 9 a.m. It was her with a face of deep tiredness and swollen eyes from crying so much.

It had my address written on a rucado paper that I had probably obtained by asking in half of Valencia. She had cut her hair and had lost weight as if these months without me had also changed her. I went to the door, but I didn’t open it. Something inside me needed to know if I had really changed or was just coming to me to calm his guilt.

I spoke to him through the closed door. Beatriz, I hear you. I am here. Dad, please open the door, he begged me in a grevado voice. Not yet. First let’s talk like this. And then he spoke to me as he had never done before. He asked me for forgiveness. She told me that she had realized that I was the only person who loved her without asking for anything in return. I’m a horrible daughter, she cried.

Girls ask about you every day. I need in my life. I told him that I would think about it. The next day I gave him a chance, but with conditions. Things would be as I said. Beatriz stayed with me for a week in Valencia. He accompanied me to my activities. I met my friends. We cook together. At night, looking at the sea from my terrace, she told me what those months had been like without me.

Dad, he told me last night, couldn’t stand you out of pity. I loved you badly, but I loved you and now I want to love you well. Hoyito said, two years later, Beatriz comes to visit me once a month. Our relationship changed completely. I’m no longer a burden, I’m his father and he treats me as such. Girls come on vacation, and we’ve created new and better memories.

Sometimes I think of that terrible afternoon. I now understand that those cruel words gave me the courage to change my life. My demise was the painful, but necessary awakening we both needed. The most important lesson. It’s never too late to demand respect, not even from your own family. We all deserve to be truly loved, not endured out of pity.

And if they don’t love us as we are, it’s better to be alone than in bad company. Sometimes they ask me if it wasn’t cruel to disappear like that without warning. My answer is always the same. Wasn’t it cruel to treat me like a burden for years? Now I live in Valencia by the sea, far from those who gave me crumbs of affection.

And for the first time in decades I’m completely happy. Do you also put up with being treated badly for not being left alone? M.