My father BANNED me from his wedding because I looked like my MOTHER.

Then it hit me that maybe Dad was thinking about how Britney had made him exclude his existing child from major moments. If she couldn’t handle his daughter being at his wedding, how would she handle him splitting attention with a baby?

My therapist nodded and said that was probably exactly what Dad was realizing. Britney’s insecurity didn’t just affect me but would affect any future children too.

I left therapy feeling less guilty about my complicated emotions. The bookstore was busy that afternoon with college students buying textbooks for the spring semester.

I rang up purchases and recommended books while thinking about Dad sitting in his house with Britney, probably arguing about starting a family he wasn’t sure he wanted. One of my coworkers asked if I was okay because I kept zoning out.

I told her I was fine, just family stuff, and she said her parents were divorced too so she got it. We talked during our break about complicated parent relationships and it felt good to connect with someone who understood.

In February, I ran into Dad at the grocery store near my apartment. I was comparing prices on pasta sauce when I heard his voice in the next aisle.

My stomach dropped and I considered leaving my cart and walking out. But then he turned the corner and saw me.

His face did this weird thing where he looked happy for a second and then uncomfortable, like he’d forgotten he was supposed to feel awkward around me. He glanced toward the front of the store and mentioned that Britney was waiting in the car.

He said it like an explanation or maybe an apology. I grabbed a jar of sauce without looking at the price and put it in my cart.

Dad asked how I was doing and I said fine, keeping my answers short. He asked about my job at the bookstore and my apartment, surface-level questions that didn’t require real answers.

I told him work was good and the apartment was fine, matching his energy. We stood there in the pasta aisle doing this awkward dance of people who used to know each other well and now didn’t know what to say.

When I mentioned I’d been going to therapy, Dad’s face changed. He looked guilty but didn’t ask why I needed therapy or what I was working through.

He already knew. We both knew. He said that was good and that therapy was helpful for a lot of people.

He was speaking in generalities instead of acknowledging that his choices were probably a main topic of my sessions. The conversation lasted maybe five minutes but felt like an hour.

Dad kept glancing toward the front of the store like he was worried about getting caught talking to me too long. I finally said I needed to finish shopping and he nodded too quickly, relieved to have an exit.

He told me to take care and I said the same. I watched him walk toward the checkout with his basket of groceries—this man who used to be my best friend now acting like I was someone he vaguely knew from work.

I finished my shopping in a daze and sat in my car for 10 minutes before driving home. That night, my phone buzzed with a text from Dad.

He apologized for being weird at the store and said seeing me unexpectedly had thrown him off. Then he added that Britney got upset when he talked about me and it was easier to keep conversation short to avoid problems at home.

I stared at the message for a long time. He was explaining her feelings again, asking me to understand why he couldn’t act like a normal father to his daughter in a grocery store.

I didn’t respond. I was tired of him explaining Britney’s emotions while completely ignoring mine.

I was tired of being treated like a problem instead of a person. I deleted the text and went to bed.

A week later, Nadia called with more gossip. She’d heard from Coraline that Britney and Dad had been trying to get pregnant for months with no success.

Nadia said Britney had been researching fertility treatments and talking about seeing specialists. Part of me felt bad for them because struggling with fertility was genuinely hard.

Mostly I felt angry that Dad might only reach out to me if he needed support through this. I felt that I might only matter to him again if his marriage with Britney hit a rough patch.

Nadia asked how I felt about potentially having a half-sibling and I realized I hadn’t even thought that far ahead. I’d been so focused on my broken relationship with Dad that I hadn’t considered what it would mean if he had another kid.

In early March, Dad called instead of texting. His name on my phone screen felt strange because he usually stuck to messages.

I almost didn’t answer but curiosity won. He sounded stressed, his voice tight in a way I recognized from when he used to deal with difficult clients at work.

He asked if we could have dinner and said there were things he needed to tell me about what was happening in his marriage. I wanted to say no to protect myself from whatever emotional mess he was about to dump on me.

But I also wanted to know what was making him sound this desperate. I agreed to meet at a restaurant near my apartment the next evening.

Dad said thank you like I was doing him a huge favor instead of just agreeing to have dinner with my own father. The next night, I got to the restaurant first and picked a table near the back.

Dad arrived 10 minutes late looking like he hadn’t slept well in weeks. His eyes had dark circles and his shirt was wrinkled, which wasn’t like him because he used to iron everything.

He sat down and ordered coffee even though it was almost 7:00 at night. The waitress left menus and Dad just started talking.

He said Britney’s obsession with getting pregnant had taken over their entire marriage. Every month brought another disappointment and more tension and blame.

She’d stopped wanting to do anything that wasn’t related to fertility. No movies, no dinners out, and no weekend trips.

Everything was about tracking ovulation and taking vitamins and researching doctors. Dad looked exhausted just describing it.

He said Britney blamed the stress of the wedding situation for her fertility problems. She’d convinced herself that her body wouldn’t cooperate because of all the family drama and negative energy from his relatives hating her.

I put down my water glass and looked at him directly. I pointed out that she had created that drama by demanding I be excluded from his wedding.

She had insisted on erasing his daughter from his life and now she was blaming the natural consequences of that choice on everyone else. Dad was quiet.

He didn’t immediately defend her like he usually did. He just sat there looking at his coffee cup like it might have answers.

I waited for him to say more. He rubbed his face with both hands and looked older than I’d ever seen him.

The restaurant felt too quiet around us, just the low hum of other people’s conversations and the clink of silverware. Dad picked up his coffee cup, set it down without drinking, then finally spoke again.