Perfect hair, perfect teeth, surgically smooth, and clearly uncomfortable with anything that reminded my dad of his old life, especially me.

Still, I played along. I laughed at her stiff jokes, complimented her flavorless casseroles, and even gifted her a beautiful scarf for Christmas. She never wore it. She didn’t have to. The message was clear: I wasn’t welcome. Every time I shared a quiet moment with my dad, Dana would interrupt with a fake cough, a phantom migraine, or sudden stomach pains. He’d brush it off. “She’s just sensitive,” he’d say.

When Dad called to say the wedding would be small—“just close family”—I said all the polite things. I wasn’t officially invited. But I showed up anyway, wearing a soft blue dress and planning to help however I could. Two weeks before the wedding, he surprised me: “Dana wants you to stay with us. No need for a hotel.” It felt odd. But I wanted to be close to him, so