Chapter 2: The Day He Stopped Showing Up

My dad always hoped I’d come around and accept Natalie as my stepmom, but I kept my distance. Through all the drama, our patched-up family limped into its third year. The seventh anniversary of my mom’s death arrived, and everything felt wrong.

Before the remarriage, Dad would spend most of the day with me at the cemetery on the east side—kneeling on the grass, tracing Mom’s name with his fingers. After Natalie moved in, it changed.

The first year, he braved Natalie’s awkward smile and went with me. The second year, Natalie had a parent-teacher conference for Lillian and asked Dad to go for her. He hesitated, but still came with me, though he rushed off after leaving flowers.

“Your sister Lillian—Dad thought about it and felt he couldn’t be absent.”

At fourteen, I stood in the wind, hands jammed in my jacket, watching his back as he hurried away. My eyes stung.

I wondered: Would there even be a next year for us?

Now I know. Because he broke his promise. I waited from sunrise to sunset, but he never came. That evening, I knelt by Mom’s grave and whispered, “Mom, from now on, I’ll visit you alone, okay?”

Her smile stared back at me from the photo. I sighed, got up, and walked home. The leaves crunched under my sneakers, the sky heavy and gray.

A week later, at breakfast, Natalie glanced at her phone’s calendar and sighed, “Time flies. It feels like our wedding was just yesterday, but it’s been almost three years.”

Dad dropped an egg; it hit the floor with a loud crack, yolk splattering across the tile. He looked at me, mouth half open, like he wanted to say something.

Lillian shuffled in, hair a mess, rubbing her eyes. “Dad, Mom, what’s for breakfast?” Her voice broke the weird tension.

Natalie fake-scolded Dad, but her smile was soft: “Look at your lazy daughter, sleeping in so late.”

Dad waved it off. “It’s winter break. Let her sleep.”

The kitchen was bright, the golden light streaming through the window, but I felt invisible—an outsider in my own home.

“Dad, next year on Mom’s death anniversary, you don’t need to go with me.”

The laughter died. They all stared. Dad’s face was blank, impossible to read.

I nodded. “I’m going to the library.”

I pulled my backpack straps tight, walked past the faded welcome mat, and closed the door behind me, the house settling into a hush.

On the way back, the air was cold. My fingers went numb, breath fogging the air as I trudged home, gravel crunching under my sneakers.

When I came back, Dad, Natalie, and Lillian were huddled around the computer, the living room washed in warm yellow light. Lillian squealed, “Dad, if we buy this house, you and Mom can have the master bedroom, and I can live next door, okay?”

“Of course you can.” Dad looked up, but the warmth drained from his face when he saw me. His smile fell.

“Allison’s back?”

Natalie beamed. “Your dad and I are talking about the new house—want to take a look?”

Her excitement made my skin itch. “Is it necessary? Haven’t you already made all the arrangements?”

Dad’s face flushed. “Who taught you to talk to your elders like that?”

He almost never yelled, but lately, every time he did, it was because of Natalie.

I didn’t answer. I just turned and slammed my bedroom door.

I heard Natalie outside, voice soft. “Why be angry? She’s still a kid. We just need to be more patient.”

Lillian added, “That’s right, Dad. Be more patient with Allison.”

Dad sighed, resigned. “Lillian’s the sensible one.”

I pressed my back to the door, knees hugged to my chest. The anger faded, replaced by confusion. Am I really not as good as Lillian?

I looked at the box under my desk—honor roll certificates, spelling bee ribbons, debate trophies. Their gold foil shone in the lamplight.

Who says I’m not as good? I’m smarter, better, more liked by teachers.

So let Dad like her. I don’t care. That’s what I told myself, anyway. I opened my book. Practice SATs were coming soon. Allison, you don’t have time to wallow.