(Flash fiction)

by Suzie Peterson

She sent me a text. “On the way home from our honeymoon. Let’s get together soon.”  She didn’t miss a beat, as if nothing had happened. A lot had happened. But, that’s been the cycle.

Why has she been so angry? I was never enough. Her hate deep. For years she has publicly berated and humiliated me, hurtful insinuations on social media, and even kept my name off the newspaper announcement.

I reached out, again. I found her name on a wedding registry and sent the most expensive gift, with love and congratulations. We met several times for lunch. A glimmer of hope. Six weeks before her wedding, when we met at the diner, my heart sank, again. “Nothing’s going to change, the wedding programs have been printed,” her parting words.

Dinner plans made. Looking forward. She cancelled. “Not going through with the plans; you’ll disappoint me!” was her text. I was disappointed, again. The story ends the same, every time. She builds me up to knock me down.

She seems to want to make a connection, but then pulls away fast, without missing a beat. She manipulates the situation and places herself in the role of disappointed victim. She works hard at making sure she has followers. Somehow she is able to always make me look like a horrible dad, in her eyes.  

No invitation arrived. I sent them chocolates, a bottle of champagne and “Mr. and Mrs.” champagne glasses the week before their wedding. On her wedding day I sobbed at home, grieving the loss of what should have been. Still not understanding her level of anger and hatred.  

All of the other people she decided to call mom, dad, sister, brother, and who she has designated as her “parents-in-heart,” or her “rock to lean on,” have been safe places for labels of the family she had desperately wanted.  A need to replace me in honor of her mom.   

Her mom and I had been going through a bump. Her mom had complained about me to her, our friends, and family. She even had an affair. I didn’t know what to do. I was happy being married. This was just a marriage speed bump, I thought. We’d figure out the new jobs we needed, and our finances. But, her mom wasn’t sure. I didn’t know whether we were working out our problems or separating. Fate decided. Her mom died that night that she and I were hit head-on by that drunk driver. I lost the chance to right our marriage.

Nearly a nervous breakdown. I did my best for our daughter, and myself. I spoke kindly about her mom. My daughter and I had a hard time. Counseling. Buying things. Vacations. Even after her mom died, it seemed to be them vs. me. Her mom had modeled how to be disappointed and complain about me. I didn’t have a chance. Berating me had been one of their strong connections. Now a strong lasting connection.

“The wrong parent died!” she yelled.

For nearly twenty-five years, she has kept that connection alive. She hasn’t moved beyond her mom’s ‘unhappy wife’ perception. She treats me the way she remembers her mom treating me.

There is only so much disrespect, berating and verbal abuse a dad should be expected to take, from an adult daughter. I took the tough love route. Stop the manipulations, lies, stories and drama, and make better decisions about money and relationships.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but the only thing my tough love did was give her more fuel to keep her loyalty to her mom alive, stronger than ever. She pushed me further away. To give me respect would be going against her loyalty to her mom’s perspective.    

Leaving me out of her wedding was the most heart-wrenching thing she could have done. Lost chances, lost hope, shattered heart.

I finally understand. Had she invited me to the wedding, then her life of high drama, manipulations, and made-up stories about me would have fallen apart, both in public and in her heart.

The unveiling, in front of her world, would have meant that many years of placing herself in the role of victim, and all of her imagined and self-created disappointments, were for naught.

By not having me attend the wedding, her lies and stories were able to continue; she comfortably remained the victim. Her mom and their strong connection were with her at the wedding.

I’ll probably never have my daughter back. I now understand that by me taking these hits from her, she got to keep her mom alive in her heart – in the only way she knows how.

Copyright © 2018 Suzann Peterson. All rights reserved.