My father left when I was nine. Not for a job or a new life — but for Elaine, a woman he’d been secretly seeing. After that, I learned not to expect much from him. So when he offered to walk me down the aisle, I was surprised. I let myself believe, just for a moment, that maybe he was finally ready to show up. He wasn’t. He arrived with Elaine in a custom gown, made everything about her, and didn’t contribute a cent to the wedding — despite offering to help. Still, I held on to hope, especially for one moment: our father-daughter dance.
It was supposed to be to Landslide, a song my mom used to sing to me when Dad left. A symbol of what we’d been through. What we survived. When the time came, the DJ called us to the floor. I looked for my dad. He didn’t move.
I approached him, confused. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Elaine’s already been feeling excluded,” he said. “We’re gonna skip that.”
