Seven years after my parents’ divorce, I still didn’t know why it happened. As their adopted child, unlike my biological siblings, Tommy and Jessica, I never felt excluded, but Mom’s vague answers and Dad’s bitterness left me confused. At Dad’s wedding to Sarah, the day felt too perfect—cream and gold, flowers, fake smiles. During his speech, he gushed about Sarah and her daughters, calling them his family. To Tommy and Jessica, he praised their maturity. But to me, he said, “I hope you’ll be out of my life soon and won’t ruin this marriage like you ruined the last one.”
The words crushed me. I walked out, unable to breathe, ignoring the stares. Outside, Tommy checked on me, but Dad’s family called me dramatic, dismissing his cruelty as a joke. I called Mom, who picked me up without questions. At home, she comforted me with grilled cheese and a movie. Days later, she revealed Dad wanted to give up my custody after having Tommy and Jessica, only fighting for me to avoid child support. He hasn’t reached out since, but his family blames me for “ruining” his day. I’m done pretending it didn’t hurt. His rejection is about him, not me. I’m learning my worth isn’t tied to his words.
