Chapter 8 - DAD LOST HIS AUDIENCE
Dad stopped calling me for almost two years.
At first, I enjoyed it.
Then I missed him.
That irritated me.
You can understand someone failed you and still miss the father who taught you to ride a bicycle.
Human beings are inconvenient that way.
One morning, Sterling forwarded a letter.
Dad had sent it through counsel.
Not demand.
No legal issue.
Personal.
I opened it.
Jenna,
I spent most of my life thinking fairness meant giving each child what I believed they needed.
I stopped.
Promising.
Lauren needed rescuing. You needed pushing.
There it was.
I never considered how convenient that philosophy was for me.
My eyes filled.
Helping Lauren made me feel generous. Being hard on you made me feel wise.
Then:
Both roles centered me.
That was more self-awareness than Dad had shown in thirty years.
He continued.
When you became successful without asking much from us, I told myself it proved I had raised you correctly.
I laughed sadly.
Of course.
Even my survival had become evidence in his favor.
I did not ask what it cost you.
My hands shook.
Then Harbor House.
I took money I told myself I had earned. I did not ask Mom because I knew she would say no. That should have told me everything.
There.
Same lesson Mark—
No.
Different story.
Same human weakness.
When someone knows consent will be denied, they often rename taking as deserving.
Dad ended:
I am not asking you to fix anything.
Important.
I am sorry.
I did not respond for three months.
Then mailed one line:
I received your letter. I believe you mean it. I am not ready yet.
He respected that.
No Mom call.
No Lauren message.
No surprise visit.
A year later, I called him.
“Coffee?”
Dad went silent.
Then:
“Yes.”
Cheap diner.
Public.
One hour.
No inheritance talk.
No Lauren.
At the end, Dad paid his bill.
I paid mine.
May you like
Strangely satisfying.
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