This article profiles one anonymous writer's experience that was too personal to share under her real name.

This is for all the girls who, like me, wish to confront their M.I.A. biological father. Sadly, most don’t have enough guts to actually say any of it to their face. This is to all the dads that sucked at being dads.

Dear Mr. M.I.A.,

There are so many questions I have, so many things that I don’t know about you. I don't know how you felt when you first met my mom. I don’t know where you two were the first time you told her you loved her. I don't know what you were thinking when she told you that she was pregnant. I don't know why you left.

I do know that you gave up. I know that I didn't have those daddy-daughter moments that I should have had as a little girl. I know that you weren't there when I lost my first tooth. I know that I was so excited about it, and you weren't there to put the dollar under my pillow, pretending to be the tooth fairy. I know that you weren’t at my 13^th birthday party, witnessing me finally becoming a teenager. I know that you didn't get to meet my friends that, unfortunately, would be there for me more than my own father. I know that you missed out on my first “love,” who was considered a parent’s worst nightmare. I know that I did a lot of stupid things because of him, and you were not there to yell at me for doing them. I know that you missed my senior prom with my first REAL love. I know that I have never been so happy with someone and you weren't there to be happy for me too. I know that when that first real love of mine broke my heart, you weren't there to pick up the pieces like a dad is supposed to be. I know that I have never felt more pain in the world and you weren't there to fix the hole that I had in my heart.

It has crossed my mind that I should try and reconnect with you sometime in the future. I’ve thought about what I would say to you. If I saw you, I would tell you that life went on, regardless of you leaving us. I would let you know that mom found a new dad for me, a better one. I would make sure you knew that he is a better dad than you ever were. I would explain to you exactly how much happier he makes her than you ever made her. I would then close by telling you that he loves me more than you ever have, and more than you ever will. The last thing I would say to you is that after all you’ve done, I still forgive you.

Sometimes I wonder what you'd say, what you'd do, if I came to visit you. I wonder if you'd smile, or if you'd cry. I wonder if you'd know who I was before I even told you. What I do know is that you had a chance to know me then and you turned it down. How am I supposed to risk getting turned down again?

With love, I think,

Your daughter