After my parents divorced, I stayed with Mom and visited Dad on weekends. At first, he still made me feel like a priority—calls, bedtime stories, movie nights.hen he met Jane.

She had three kids, and suddenly, I was the outsider. They made family crafts—my handprint wasn’t on the canvas. Slowly, I faded from his life. “Logan has a game,” “Tyler wants to go out,” “Emma needs her room painted.” Every time I asked for one-on-one time, I got brushed off.Once, I fractured my arm falling from a tree. At the hospital, I kept waiting. He never came. When I told him how hurt I felt, he accused me of being jealous. Meanwhile, Mom worked double shifts, cheered at my school plays, and stayed up with me during nightmares.

I stopped chasing him after he bailed on helping with a school trip—again choosing his stepkids’ party over me. Mom covered the cost. Quietly, I decided: I was done begging to matter.By senior year, I was top of my class, headed to my dream college. Dad offered money for my graduation party, but pulled it last minute—“Tyler’s feeling down. A shopping trip might cheer him up.” That was the final straw.

I returned his envelope. “I won’t be needing this.”At graduation, top students could choose someone to walk them onstage. I chose Mike—Mom’s boyfriend, who’d driven me to interviews, helped with applications, and always showed up.Dad stood up too, ready to claim his moment.Until he saw Mike step forward.“Who is THAT? I’m her father!”I turned calmly. “Now you remember? After ten years?”He shouted about all he’d done. I listed what he hadn’t—missed hospital visits, broken promises, forgotten milestones.“You’ve been absent,” I said. “He hasn’t.”“You’re replacing me?” he asked, small and red-faced.I didn’t answer.We crossed the stage. And for the first time, I felt like someone’s daughter—not someone’s afterthought.