Dear Lucas,

My name is Elizabeth Jessica Michelle Davis. I know that I have two middle names, but my mother was pretty drugged when she gave birth to me. Mom calls me Liz. Uncle Nate calls me Beth. And Sam calls me Lizzy. You can call me Elizabeth.

My mother is Brooke Penelope Davis. She is thirty-four years old. She hates you.

Or at least she tells me she hates you. But I know it isn't true. I can see it in her eyes. She loves you.

My mother isn't one to face her problems. She hates dealing with them. That is why I take care of all the bills. Because mom cant stand to look at them.

I know you're wondering why I am writing to you. You left me. You left us. You weren't there for me when I needed you. And you weren't there for her. Now, you probably have a family somewhere. One that sits around you during dinner. Plays basketball with you in the morning. One that has a father.

But I don't. I never did. And to be honest, I never really minded. I love my life with mom. I wouldn't trade it for the world. True, sometimes she can be overwhelming to others. But I still love her. I always will. Just like I know that you will.

I read your letters. The ones you used to write to her when you were younger. The love in your words doesn't die out when you leave. It stays with you forever.

She reads them sometimes. Your letters. She reads them to me to show me what you were like. She leaves out the 'naughty' parts though. She says that she doesn't want me in therapy for the next few years. Its not like we can afford therapy.

I am sixteen now. You probably already know that though. Uncle Nathan told me you still think about me. About her. But thinking about your daughter and being with your daughter are two very different things.

I don't hate you. Mom always taught me not to hate you. No matter how much I wanted to. I don't. She says that even though you aren't there, I shouldn't hate you.

But I do. I hate you and yet I don't. The only reason I don't hate you is because I don't want to hate the only father I have. But you aren't a father. At least not to me.

I know what Dan did. I know that I should probably call him grandpa. But I wont. Mom tells me not to. He kept us from you all those years ago. That is the reason you couldn't be with us.

But you still could have come. You didn't have to listen to him. But you did. And I hate you for that.

I am a junior in high school. I cheerlead, just like mom did. But I'm also on the honors list, just like you were. I play basketball, sometimes. With Uncle Nate and Haley. They cant have kids. But they have me instead.

They love Mom, too. Even though, they didn't like her like you did in high school. But they do now. We are over there every day Saturday for dinner. Mainly because Mom cant cook. But also because we are a family.

I was wrong about you having a family. You don't. Uncle Nate told me you are getting married. He read about you in the newspaper. He says it's the only way to keep in touch. Your name was on TV today. I turned it off once I heard it. Mom told me that it was okay to watch. I said I didn't want to.

But I did. I wanted to know the truth about you. I wanted to know everything about you. But on the other hand. I wanted to forget you. I wanted to bury you in my mind. It didn't work. So I turned on the TV.

She was standing next to you. Blonde and tall. Your fiancé. Mom was upset. I could tell. She tried to hide it though. I held her tightly and we finished watching.

You couch basketball now. The Lakers. You make a lot of money. Enough to buy a plane and fly down here to see us. But you don't.

Last night, I won another basketball trophy. I put it up with the other awards I have. Mom was so proud. She's always proud. She took a picture. She has many photo albums. One for everything. One for my birthdays. One for my awards. One for my firsts. One for just us.

And one for you.

I don't know why she keeps it. But she does. Every now and then she takes it out. She flips through the pages and stops at your picture. She looks at it for a second. And then she shuts the book. Like nothing happened. Like you were never there.

She doesn't have a boyfriend. Well, she did. But they never last. None of them. Maybe, she's afraid to commit. Or maybe she still loves you. I don't know.

She's still beautiful. Brunette, slim. People stop and stare at her all the time. They stare at me too now. I don't look like her though. I look like you.

I have blonde hair and blue eyes. But also, her dimples and figure. People say I'm beautiful. I don't believe them. How can I be beautiful when I look like you?

I have a boyfriend. His name is Sam. He's really handsome. Even mom says so. I love him.

I don't want to love him. What if he leaves me? Like you left mom. But Sam isn't like you. He loves me. He's not afraid.

He comes over for dinner. When we aren't with Uncle Nate. Mom makes him cook because she cant. He laughs and then heads to the oven. Then we watch a movie together. Mom, me and Sam. Mom and Sam always fight over the morals of the movie. I sit happily in between.

Sam doesn't have a family. He has me and mom instead. He stays with his Uncle. But his uncle doesn't love him. His Uncle just wants Sam's money. Sam's parents were rich. But they died. And now Sam is rich.

I don't care about money. I really don't. Mom taught me that it isn't important when you have family. I believe her. She used to have money. Until she had me. But she doesn't care about that. She loves me more.

I have a license. I don't have a car. Instead, I have the bus. I know Mom's saving up to buy me a car. I saw her put away money. I love her for it. She cant afford to buy one. Not even for herself. But she puts away some money for my car anyways.

It was stolen. Two weeks ago. Someone came in and took it all. Mom cried. She had been saving up for a year and a half. I hugged her and cried too. I know my Mom is sad. It hurts to see her cry.

Sam gives me rides to school. He has a car since he is rich. We don't go to the same school. Sam goes to a private school. An expensive one. His uncle tells him not to stay with me. He says that I am a commoner and am low-class. Sam punched him. Hard. He doesn't like it when people says things like that about me.

Guys at his school think I'm pretty. They also think I'm easy. Sam hates when they call me a slut. Even though, I'm not. I've never had sex before. I tell Sam to ignore it. I'm used to them saying things like that. Sam isn't. He gets mad, but he listens to me and doesn't do anything.

I like that he is there to protect me. He doesn't want anyone to hurt me. He doesn't even want anyone to hurt my mom. Mom says that Sam is the man of the house. Even though Sam doesn't live with us. It feels like it, though.

I guess the reason I am telling you these things is because you've been replaced. By Uncle Nate. By Sam. They take care of us. So, don't worry. You aren't needed.

But then again. Uncle Nate is my uncle. And Sam is my boyfriend. Neither of them is my dad. So, maybe you are needed.

My Mom is sad because she says that she cant give me everything I want. But she doesn't know that I already have everything I could want. Except for you.

She made me a bag and a dress for a dance at Sam's school. People ignored that I was poorer and asked me where I got the dress. I told them it was a special design from Paris. Sam chuckled. He knew it was from my mom.

I am going to end my letter here. I am writing to you because I want you to know that you are my father. But also that I am okay. I have the life I want. I don't need anything more. I don't want you to worry about me. Uncle Nate says you do. You ask him about me a lot. I wanted to tell you about myself. My life is filled with love. From Mom, from Sam, Uncle Nate. Even Haley. And I love them all. I even love you. Just a little bit. Cause I know that you are my father. And I am you daughter

Yours sincerely,

Elizabeth Jessica Michelle Davis