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Bookstore at Columbia Theological Seminary

Bookstore at Columbia Theological Seminary

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We are a complete and unique bookstore and "the place to be" on campus. We also stock unique gift items and CTS merchandise. Come browse

02/07/2026

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Our Dad “Wanted a Son,” So He Sent Us to Live with Grandma — Years Later, I Made Him Regret It in Court My father didn’t just disappoint me — he erased me. Me, and my three sisters, one by one. All because we were born girls. I’m nineteen now, but the moment I realized my father didn’t love me is burned into me so deeply it still stings. I was maybe five, sitting cross-legged on Grandma’s old couch, sticky popsicle in hand, staring at the family photos on the mantle. Birthdays. Vacations. The hospital photo of Dad holding me as a newborn. His face wasn’t angry, or even sad. It was… blank. Like I was the wrong order at a restaurant, something he couldn’t send back but wished he could. I’m Julia, the oldest of four girls — then came Mia, then Sophie, then little Grace. And every time Mom gave birth and it wasn’t a boy, the air in our house grew heavier. Dad never said it outright, but Mom once told me, voice low, that right after I was born he muttered in the hospital, “Don’t get too attached. We’ll try again.” His solution to four “failed attempts” at a son? Send us away. He didn’t scream, didn’t argue. He just dropped each of us at Grandma Margaret’s house like we were mismatched furniture. I went first, before my first birthday. Then Mia, then Sophie, then Grace. Always a few months apart, so no one would notice. Grandma raised us in her tiny, warm home, baking us our own birthday cakes every year so none of us would have to share. She never yelled. She never made us feel like disappointments. She was our real parent. Mom didn’t stop him. She’d been worn down long before we were born, and I think she resented the life she’d been handed. Calls from them were rare. A birthday card here and there, signed “Love, Mom and Dad” — no message, no warmth. Then one day, when I was nine, I overheard Grandma on the phone. “It’s a boy!” Mom’s voice was bright, giddy. “We named him Lucas.” And for the first time, I heard Dad laugh — a full, genuine laugh. A week later, they visited, not for us, but to parade their miracle son around. Dad’s face glowed when he held him. He’d never looked at us that way. After that, they vanished again. Eight years later, the past came knocking — literally. A lawyer showed up at Grandma’s, asking for the names of Walter’s grandchildren — Walter, my grandfather I’d never met. He’d walked out decades earlier, but he’d built a fortune and now was dying. Grandma listed all of us without hesitation. She didn’t know Dad had been eavesdropping, didn’t know he’d tracked the return address and realized there was money in the picture. Two weeks later, a rented U-Haul pulled into the driveway. Mom and Dad stepped out, smiling like they’d just come from a family reunion instead of abandoning us for over a decade. “It’s time to bring you girls home,” Dad said, voice dripping with fake warmth. That night, they packed our things. Grandma couldn’t stop them — she’d never filed for guardianship, holding onto the hope they’d return for the right reasons. But I knew better. I knew this wasn’t about love. And by the time he learned I wasn’t just going to let him take what he wanted, it would be far too late for him to undo what I had planned… (continue reading in the 1st comment) https://champ.ly/s4Plm3lO 08/19/2025

Our Dad “Wanted a Son,” So He Sent Us to Live with Grandma — Years Later, I Made Him Regret It in Court My father didn’t just disappoint me — he erased me. Me, and my three sisters, one by one. All because we were born girls. I’m nineteen now, but the moment I realized my father didn’t love me is burned into me so deeply it still stings. I was maybe five, sitting cross-legged on Grandma’s old couch, sticky popsicle in hand, staring at the family photos on the mantle. Birthdays. Vacations. The hospital photo of Dad holding me as a newborn. His face wasn’t angry, or even sad. It was… blank. Like I was the wrong order at a restaurant, something he couldn’t send back but wished he could. I’m Julia, the oldest of four girls — then came Mia, then Sophie, then little Grace. And every time Mom gave birth and it wasn’t a boy, the air in our house grew heavier. Dad never said it outright, but Mom once told me, voice low, that right after I was born he muttered in the hospital, “Don’t get too attached. We’ll try again.” His solution to four “failed attempts” at a son? Send us away. He didn’t scream, didn’t argue. He just dropped each of us at Grandma Margaret’s house like we were mismatched furniture. I went first, before my first birthday. Then Mia, then Sophie, then Grace. Always a few months apart, so no one would notice. Grandma raised us in her tiny, warm home, baking us our own birthday cakes every year so none of us would have to share. She never yelled. She never made us feel like disappointments. She was our real parent. Mom didn’t stop him. She’d been worn down long before we were born, and I think she resented the life she’d been handed. Calls from them were rare. A birthday card here and there, signed “Love, Mom and Dad” — no message, no warmth. Then one day, when I was nine, I overheard Grandma on the phone. “It’s a boy!” Mom’s voice was bright, giddy. “We named him Lucas.” And for the first time, I heard Dad laugh — a full, genuine laugh. A week later, they visited, not for us, but to parade their miracle son around. Dad’s face glowed when he held him. He’d never looked at us that way. After that, they vanished again. Eight years later, the past came knocking — literally. A lawyer showed up at Grandma’s, asking for the names of Walter’s grandchildren — Walter, my grandfather I’d never met. He’d walked out decades earlier, but he’d built a fortune and now was dying. Grandma listed all of us without hesitation. She didn’t know Dad had been eavesdropping, didn’t know he’d tracked the return address and realized there was money in the picture. Two weeks later, a rented U-Haul pulled into the driveway. Mom and Dad stepped out, smiling like they’d just come from a family reunion instead of abandoning us for over a decade. “It’s time to bring you girls home,” Dad said, voice dripping with fake warmth. That night, they packed our things. Grandma couldn’t stop them — she’d never filed for guardianship, holding onto the hope they’d return for the right reasons. But I knew better. I knew this wasn’t about love. And by the time he learned I wasn’t just going to let him take what he wanted, it would be far too late for him to undo what I had planned… (continue reading in the 1st comment) https://champ.ly/s4Plm3lO

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+14046874550

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701 S Columbia Drive
Decatur, GA
30030

Opening Hours

Monday 10:30am - 2:30pm
Tuesday 10:30am - 2:30pm
Wednesday 10:30am - 2:30pm
Thursday 10:30am - 2:30pm
Friday 10:30am - 2:30pm