The Rotten Apology:

That was slick. Even after all was said and done you still tried to turn it around on me. "What's your problem?" Oh, I just don't know. I wouldn't be able to count the times I told you to knock it off on both hands, and that right there would be enough motive for any typical guy. But, no, even for me that wasn't enough. Remember when I told you that either you were going to stop fucking around behind my back with that prick or you were never going to see me again? And you said, "I don't want to lose you," or whatever other horse shit you probably fed me, along with a promise that you'd cut it off with that insignifi-cunt little shit. You remember how it probably wasn't even until six hours later that you already broke that promise? I do.

Or how about, before that, the other three times we got into arguments about it? The same apology and promise issued by you each time and dutifully broken. Everyone I talked to about it said you were just fucking around with my head like a broken toy, watching the pieces fall off til there wasn't much left to throw around... and they were right, and I kept going on thinking you loved me for some strange reason. I should have listened to them, but I'm fucking retarded like that and I didn't. Then, in my infinite levels of stupidity I got you pregnant. Oh, Lord, save me for I have sinned.

I assumed that, being pregnant, the guy would finally give up, but it hell, it seemed to only get worse. I don't know which trimester it was that I caught you fucking around with him still, or I don't even remember how many times I caught you screwing around with him while you were pregnant. All I remember is that eventually you learned not to make it so fucking easy for me to find out. You actually, and this was impressive, tried to keep me in the dark. And, fuck, after going nearly a month without hearing about him, I thought the pregnancy knocked some sense into to, mainly, "I'm pregnant, maybe I should grow up and stop telling everyone that I'm in love with two different guys and jerking the both of them around at once!" but apparently that was too good to be true.

I like the part in your journal about talking to him when the contractions began. That was really golden. Or how about his journal entry about hoping some trains and buses in order to make it to your house so he can gaze "with so much love" at my daughter, like she's his own! Or, and especially his side quip that he hopes one day her last name can be changed to his!. For still being a minor, no wait I think he just finally turned the ripe old age of 18, he's got a lot of balls. It'll only be another two years now til life kicks him in the face and tells him to recognize, so my bitterness is sort of sweet tasting.

And you say... "What is your problem?" As if I've done something terribly wrong here? Oh, Christ, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ever got myself into this and I'm definitely sorry I ever got myself into this with you. I'm sorry I didn't break up with you before I had a chance to get you pregnant. I'm sorry I get like a retarded lovestruck masochistic asshole and couldn't bring myself to see the fact that you never, not once, gave two shits about what I felt. I was never there for you? Hmm... I'm not too sure about that one, Mom.

Thank you for gladly taking away from me the one thing I could possibly even remotely care about. Go ahead, give her to that prick, we'll find out how long it takes him to grow tired of your harpings about how much you miss me (and all your other fucking exes) and leave you just the same as I'm leaving you now. After everything I've done, it's stupid that it has to come to this... but some things that arrive broken can't ever be fixed, and unfortunately for Avery, we arrived into this world very badly broken.

With love,
Brad

P.S. I apologize to everyone who has to read this who knows me or her in some way, but it has to be said. I'm so used to being the bad guy, I might as well go out with a bang... and not have it be the sound of a gun.