Chapter 5 - THE FATHER WHO FINALLY LISTENEDMy father called two days later.
I almost didn't answer.
“Jenna,” he said, sounding unusually cautious, “we need to discuss what happened.”
I was sitting at my kitchen table, reviewing the documents from the foundation.
“What part?”
“The email. The nomination.”
“Did you know Felicity had sent it?”
He exhaled.
“I knew she was helping your stepmother with some administrative matters.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Silence followed.
Then he said, “Your stepmother believed the award ceremony might create tension.”
I closed my eyes.
“What tension?”
“Felicity was already under a lot of pressure. The wedding was expensive. There were expectations. Your sister was worried about how everything would look.”
“And that justified impersonating me?”
“No.”
It was the first honest word he had offered me in years.
I waited.
“I should have asked questions,” he continued. “I should have made sure you were contacted. I didn't.”
“Why?”
He struggled to answer.
Finally, he said, “Because keeping Felicity happy has always been easier than admitting when she's wrong.”
I had expected denial.
I had expected anger.
I had not expected that.
“Dad, do you know what hurts the most?”
“What?”
“I don't need you to tell everyone I'm wonderful. I don't need you to defend me in every disagreement. I just wanted you to stop laughing when someone treated me like I didn't matter.”
His breathing grew uneven.
“I know.”
“No, I don't think you do.”
I told him about the hospital nights he had never asked about. The birthdays he had forgotten. The family photographs where I had been cropped out. The times Felicity had borrowed money and never repaid it, only to have him tell me not to make things awkward by asking.
I told him how I had learned to celebrate my own achievements quietly because sharing them at home only invited comparison.
I had never said these things aloud in one conversation.
Once I began, I couldn't stop.
When I finally fell silent, my father didn't immediately respond.
Then he said, “I'm sorry.”
The words sounded unfamiliar coming from him.
I wanted them to fix everything.
They didn't.
“Thank you,” I replied. “But I'm not ready to pretend this is resolved.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“I'll try to.”
For once, I believed he might mean it.
Before ending the call, he told me that Silas had contacted him.
“The foundation is reviewing what happened,” he explained. “Silas wants the records corrected. He also said you deserve an apology.”
“I don't need Silas to fight my battles.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He paused.
“Yes,” he said. “I think I'm beginning to.”
After the call, I sat by the window and watched the late afternoon light move across the floor.
My father had apologized.
My sister had been exposed.
May you like
The truth was finally emerging.
But I knew better than to mistake the beginning of accountability for the end of pain.
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