A dead-beat dad abandons his wife and children . Make me sympathize with him .

( I actually posted this story a few months ago to a different subreddit with the title `` Why I abandoned my Daughter''. If you'll forgive my reposting, I think it fits your prompt. ) 
 
 I hated that ancient pair of shoes. 
 
 Supporting a wife and daughter meant I had to make this pair last. The backs had fallen apart and the metal cut into my heels with every goddamn step I took. They had been digging the same holes into my feet all week and, as I walked to my car after a long day of work, it was especially intolerable. Maybe that was why I was so short with that girl when she approached me. 
 
 My eyes were on the ground as I walked through the outdoor parking lot. I could n't wait to be home. I took solace in the fact that my wife and daughter would be asleep. I could sneak in and clean the cut on my forehead and stop the bleeding from my knuckles before they saw me. 
 
 Behind me, I heard someone call out, `` Hey, Mister.'' 
 
 Knowing my city, the odds were high that anybody approaching me in a parking lot at night was about to stab me and take my wallet. I snapped to attention, swiveling my head around and balling my hands into fists. I flinched in pain as I remembered my hurt knuckles. 
 
 To my relief, there was only a hooker behind me. She was clutching her arms and shivered as if she were cold. But I knew why she was actually shaking. 
 
 `` No thanks,'' I said as I turned and started to walk back to my car. 
 
 `` Actually, I, uh, I was wondering if you were, you know, carrying,'' she said, teetering up behind me on her high heels. 
 
 `` No.'' 
 
 `` Oh. Well, you know, I'm really in need of a fix, Mister.'' 
 
 `` Sorry to hear that,'' I lied. 
 
 `` Well... can I at least suck your dick, Mister? I need some money.'' 
 
 `` Do n't say that,'' I said without turning around. 
 
 `` What I do for money is my business,'' she said, failing to convince me of her pride in her work. 
 
 `` No,'' I sighed, `` just do n't say what service you're offering. If I were a cop I'd be able to arrest you. If you're looking for a client, just tell the guy that you want to party or something.'' 
 
 `` Oh. Sorry, Sir.'' 
 
 Her accent was gone but manners like those did n't come from the city. She still had her Southern charm. 
 
 `` Well, actually, mister, maybe you could give me a ride.'' 
 
 `` No.'' 
 
 `` Oh, please. It's only a few blocks. I really need a fix. Really bad.'' 
 
 `` I have to get home,'' I said as I spotted my car. Just a few more steps in those goddamn awful shoes. 
 
 `` It's a dangerous walk, Mister. Do n't make me walk alone. Please, Mister. Please.'' 
 
 `` It's even more dangerous to get in a car with a stranger, you dumb bitch!'' I snapped as I turned to face her. `` You do n't know a goddamn thing about me but you're still trying to climb into a car with me!'' 
 
 `` You have a kind face, Mister,'' she said meekly. 
 
 I laughed as I turned back to my car. `` Really? You think so? Well you're a shitty judge of character.'' 
 
 I was infuriated when I could still hear her steps behind me. As I reached my car, I faced her again. She was sobbing. Underneath the running makeup I saw her face for the first time. Her lifestyle made her age twice as fast, but I could see her youthful eyes glistening with tears. She could n't have been out of her early-twenties. Her eyes reminded me of my daughter's. That unsettled me. 
 
 `` Can you please take me home, Sir?'' she sobbed. `` The bus station is n't far from here. I just wan na go home to my daddy. I never wan na see this city again.'' 
 
 `` You have a father and a home?'' I asked in disbelief. `` Then why the hell did you leave them for this shithole of a city?'' 
 
 `` Please, Mister. Do n't make me walk over there at this time of night. The bus station is just a few blocks away.'' 
 
 The bus station was on the other side of town and I had no interest in staying out any later than I had to. 
 
 `` Would you wake up? Ca n't you see that I have blood pouring out of my head and my knuckles! I'm not a safe person to talk to! I make a living through violence, for God's sake! And you're trying to jump into a car with me because you think I have a kind face? I hope my daughter grows up to be a better judge of character than you.'' 
 
 I froze when I realized the implications of what I had just said. I was a violent man. The kind of man that I would n't want my daughter anywhere near. I was hypnotized by my realization when I felt the girl put her hand on my shoulder. I did n't know how to respond to affection. So I responded with violence. 
 
 I backhanded her across the face. I swore as I remembered my injured knuckle and held my hand to fight the pain. The hooker backpedaled, holding her face. She looked back to me one last time and yelled, 
 `` That's why! That's why I left my father for this shithole of a city!'' Then she stormed off into the darkness. 
 
 At last, I sat in my car. I did n't start the engine, though. I looked at my tired eyes in the rear-view mirror. I studied myself, trying to see why anybody would think I had a kind face. To this day, I still ca n't see what that hooker saw in me. 
 
 Maybe it was because I saw what became of that girl from the South. Maybe it was because of the violence in my job. Maybe it was because I wanted to get a new pair of fucking shoes. Whatever the reason, I did n't go home that night. I never saw my daughter again.
