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

He said he’d been thinking about the wedding a lot lately, about how many people left early and about his brother’s speech. He admitted he’d replayed that morning at the hotel over and over and remembered standing in my doorway unable to look at me.

His voice got quieter when he said, “Maybe choosing Britney’s comfort over having me there wasn’t the right call.”

I felt something shift in my chest, but I didn’t let it show on my face. This wasn’t the full apology I needed, but it was closer than he’d ever gotten.

I asked him if he was only saying this because his marriage was struggling. I asked if it was because Britney couldn’t get pregnant and he was realizing what he’d given up.

Dad looked genuinely hurt by that question, but he didn’t get defensive. He said he deserved my suspicion after what he’d done.

He admitted the fertility issues had forced him to look at his choices differently and made him see patterns he’d been ignoring. But he insisted he’d been feeling guilty since the wedding and wanted to reach out but didn’t know how.

I told him he didn’t lose his family like it was some accident that happened to him. He made a choice to push us all away when he picked Britney’s irrational demands over basic decency.

I reminded him that Coraline had been nothing but kind to him and that Nathan had always supported him. I reminded him that I had stood by him through the divorce and everything after.

He threw all of that away because his new wife couldn’t handle looking at me. Dad’s shoulders slumped and he looked down at the table.

He said I was right and that he’d pushed everyone away by making that choice. But even now, sitting here admitting he’d messed up, he couldn’t quite say the actual words that he’d been wrong.

Instead he said he wished things had gone differently, like it was fate instead of his own decisions. I felt the familiar frustration rise up but I kept my voice level.

I pointed out there was a difference between wishing things were different and taking responsibility for making them that way. Dad nodded slowly but didn’t argue.

He just sat there looking sad and tired. The waitress came by to refill his coffee and asked if we wanted food.

Dad ordered a sandwich he probably wouldn’t eat and I got the same. After she left, Dad asked if I’d be willing to see him occasionally, maybe have coffee once in a while away from Britney.

He said he knew he didn’t deserve it, but he wanted to maintain some kind of relationship with me if I’d let him. I didn’t answer right away.

Part of me wanted to say yes immediately because I missed my dad and the person he used to be before Britney. Another part of me knew that agreeing too easily would let him off the hook and make it seem like what he’d done was forgivable just because he felt bad now.

I told him I needed to think about it and that I wanted to talk to my therapist before making any decisions. Dad looked disappointed but said he understood.

He asked if I’d at least text him after I decided and I said I would. Two days later, I sat in my therapist’s office going over everything Dad had said at dinner.

She asked good questions about what I actually wanted from a relationship with him versus what I felt obligated to give him. We talked about boundaries and what it would mean to see him occasionally without pretending everything was fine.

She helped me understand that I could maintain some connection with my father without accepting what he’d done is okay. Having limited contact didn’t mean I was saying the wedding situation didn’t permanently damage our relationship.

By the end of the session, I had a clearer idea of what I could offer Dad without betraying myself. I could see him once a month for coffee in a public place.

I wouldn’t attend any events where Britney made me unwelcome or where I’d be expected to act like everything was normal. I wouldn’t pretend the wedding never happened or that we were back to how things used to be.

If he wanted access to my life, it would be on my terms with clear boundaries. I texted Dad three days after our dinner.

I kept it simple and said I was willing to meet once a month for coffee but I wouldn’t pretend everything was fine between us. I told him I wouldn’t participate in any family events where Britney made me unwelcome and that I needed him to respect these boundaries.

I hit send and felt my stomach twist with anxiety waiting for his response. It came back in less than five minutes.

Dad said yes to everything. He said he was grateful I was giving him this chance and he’d take whatever relationship I was willing to have.

The relief in his text was obvious even through the screen. Part of me felt good about setting clear terms, but another part felt sad that this was what our relationship had become.

We had scheduled monthly meetings with rules and boundaries instead of the easy closeness we used to have. Our first coffee meeting happened in late March at a place near my apartment.

I got there early and picked a table by the window where I could see Dad coming. He showed up exactly on time wearing a jacket I recognized from years ago.

We ordered our drinks and sat down and the first few minutes were awkward. Dad asked about my job at the bookstore and I told him about the new inventory system.

He talked about a project at work that was giving him trouble. We carefully avoided mentioning Britney, the wedding, or any family members.

It felt stilted and strange, but it wasn’t terrible. We finished our coffee in 40 minutes and Dad walked me to my car.

He thanked me again for meeting him and asked if we could do it again next month. I said yes and drove home feeling weird about the whole thing, like I just had coffee with a distant relative instead of my own father.

A Performance of Remorse

April’s coffee meeting went a little smoother. We’d found a rhythm of safe topics that wouldn’t lead to fights.

Near the end, Dad mentioned that Britney had started seeing a fertility specialist who suggested counseling might help with the stress of trying to conceive. He didn’t say whether they were actually going, but the fact that he was telling me felt important.

It was the first time he’d voluntarily brought up Britney in our conversations. It was the first crack in the wall he’d built between his marriage and his relationship with me.