He had the kind of eyes that could smolder on command, the dangerous magnetism that casting directors drooled over, and the raw, unpredictable charisma that made him one of Hollywood’s most magnetic rising stars of the 1980s. But long before the red carpets, magazine covers, and awards buzz, Eric Roberts made a choice that would shadow him for the rest of his life. At 35, while the industry hailed him as the next big thing, he walked away from his baby daughter when she was just seven months old.
Eric was born in 1956 in Biloxi, Mississippi, and grew up in a complicated, artistic family that lived and breathed drama both on and off the stage. By his twenties, he was already turning heads on Broadway. His breakout performance in Burn This marked him as the kind of actor who could handle emotionally explosive, high-stakes roles. Hollywood noticed quickly. He earned Golden Globe nominations for King of the Gypsies, Star 80, and later Runaway Train. He had the looks, the intensity, and the attitude. Studios called him when they needed someone who could ignite a scene effortlessly.
But while his career soared, his personal life spiraled. Fame combined with addiction is like gasoline next to an open flame—and Eric was burning at both ends.
When his daughter Emma was born on February 10, 1991, Eric wasn’t in any position to be a father. His relationship with Emma’s mother, Kelly Cunningham, quickly collapsed under the strain of his drug use and volatility. Kelly received full custody, and Eric didn’t contest it. Years later, in his memoir Runaway Train, he didn’t sugarcoat what happened: “I had abandoned Kelly when Emma was just seven months old,” he wrote. “I couldn’t handle the realities of an infant in my life, and I couldn’t handle being a parent.”
What made the situation more public—and more painful—was the involvement of his famous sister, Julia Roberts. For years, tabloids spun the story as a dramatic family feud: America’s Sweetheart pitted against her troubled brother. But Eric shut that down with sharp clarity. According to him, the truth was far less sensational.
“The question has been asked forever whether Julia and I had a giant falling out over custody of Emma. I want to clear the air,” he wrote. “I never saw myself as someone who deserved physical custody of Emma—not in a million years. There was no custody battle. There was no betrayal. Julia helped Kelly financially because she could and because it was for Emma. I deeply appreciated it.”
Meanwhile, as Eric spiraled in addiction, Emma grew up with her mother, visiting Aunt Julia on film sets and absorbing, unknowingly, the magic of a world she would one day inhabit herself. On the set of Erin Brockovich, she would hide in Julia’s makeup trailer like it was a playground. “It felt like summer camp,” she recalled years later. Creativity seeped into her naturally, nurtured by artists who loved their craft.
Even as Emma built her own career—starring in American Horror Story, Scream Queens, and several successful films—there was a hollow space where her father should have been. When asked in an interview about their relationship, she didn’t soften the edges: “Um… how do I say this? No, we’re not close.”
Eric drifted through years he barely remembers—temporary jobs, strained relationships, family kept at arm’s length, all blurred by addiction. But he didn’t stay lost. Eventually, he faced the wreckage he had created. He got sober. He rebuilt his life. He began to repair the fractures he’d left behind.
At 69, he speaks honestly about his past and the cost of it: “For many years, I was a practicing drug addict,” he admitted. “A lot of people were alienated—especially family. I owe them a lot because they love me.” He speaks with the kind of brutal honesty that comes from being fed up with your own mistakes and choosing to stop running.
He rebuilt his marriage to Eliza Roberts and returned to steady work, taking roles in both big and small films, anything that kept him grounded and sober. He discusses addiction without hiding from the past. “The only way to be a good example is to get through being a casualty,” he said. “Addicts aren’t bad people—they’re just making mistakes.”
Even if his relationship with Emma never developed into the conventional father-daughter bond, the love never disappeared. For her birthday, he posted a photo of her as a little girl, sitting with a toy instruction booklet while he looked at her with unmistakable warmth. “I am clueless about the task,” he wrote, “but the love on my face for her is undeniable. I knew she’d grow up to be all that and more. I love you, Emma.”
He doesn’t worry about her handling fame either. In his eyes, she’s stronger than he ever was: “I’m often asked if I’m concerned about my daughter in this business. I love this business. I didn’t realize how much it beats you up, but Emma’s much stronger than I was at her age. She has more tools to create a safe space for herself.”
For a man who once lost nearly everything—his identity, his family, and the chance to raise his daughter—Eric Roberts has gradually rebuilt something more valuable than fame: honesty, forgiveness, and a quiet, steady peace. He doesn’t deny the past. He doesn’t polish it. He owns it. And he lives differently because of it.
Emma Roberts didn’t grow up with her father by her side, but the truth is he never stopped watching her, never stopped caring, and never stopped hoping she would become the woman she is today—not from the spotlight he once chased, but from the quieter place he now occupies—a man who finally understands what matters, even if he learned it the hard way.