I've never told anyone other than my mother and my nephews that I love them and really meant it (to my knowledge). I've never even told this to my biological father because I wasn't old enough to talk by the time he disappeared. I did recently tell my stepfather, but I had to force it out, and I'm not sure that I meant it even in the very moment that I said it. I know in all the seconds that have followed, I do not love him.
I care about him. I appreciate him. I am thankful in so many ways that he is in my life, but I do not love him (at least not unconditionally). I wonder if he loves me unconditionally. He always writes "Love, Mac" on the bottom of birthday, Christmas, Easter, and other special occassion cards; these cards always have something preprinted on them that indicates that the receiver of the card is somehow special to the giver. I imagine that he does love me, probably not unconditionally, but with some conviction. I am after all, essentially, his only child; he has taken care of me for more than half of my life. I don't guess it really truly matters to me in the end. He loves me, he loves me not.