The scream she let out was primal. She threw her wine glass against the wall, shattering it. She screamed that I was a terrible father, that Marcus was a loser, that we were ruining her life. We stood there and took it until she ran out of breath.
“I’m leaving,” Marcus said. “I’ll come for my things tomorrow.”
I walked out with Marcus. We stood on the sidewalk in the cool night air.
“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Marcus said.
“Don’t be,” I replied, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You just dodged a bullet. And I just learned a lesson I should have learned twenty years ago.”
The next six months were the hardest of my life. Vanessa lost the house. She moved into a tiny apartment with three roommates. She blocked my number. I heard from family friends that she was badmouthing me to anyone who would listen, calling me a miser who abandoned his daughter. It hurt, deeply. But I didn’t reach out. I didn’t send money.
Then, about eight months later, I was at my hardware store, stocking shelves. The bell above the door chimed. I looked up and saw Vanessa.
She looked different. She was wearing simple jeans and a t-shirt, no designer labels in sight. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she looked tired. She didn’t look like the princess I had raised; she looked like a person.
She walked up to the counter. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hi, Vanessa,” I said, wary.
I waited.
“I’m working,” she said. “I got a job as an administrative assistant at a dental office. It pays… okay. I’m paying my own rent. It sucks. The apartment is small, and my roommates are loud.”
“That sounds like life,” I said.
Continue reading…
