Or my favorite anecdote: that he was expecting a newborn at almost sixty-five years old.
I haven’t corrected anything. Let people talk.
They were always talking anyway.
But nothing had prepared me for the spectacle that Dad put on the morning of the hearing.
I parked early in the courthouse parking lot, hoping to be able to sit in the hallway, breathe, and collect myself. I still had that old instinct telling me to make myself small, discreet, easy.
Living alongside your father for so long leaves its mark.
But as I walked through the doors of the courthouse, I was breathless.
Dad wasn’t just there.
He had brought an audience.
He entered the hall with a confident stride, wearing his favorite charcoal grey sports jacket. His hair was slicked back, and his smile was so wide that it revealed all the crowns he had had put in after his mother’s death.
And on his arm, clinging to him like a prom date, was her. The teacher.
She was younger than I remembered.
Or perhaps she was simply dressing younger.
A tight-fitting sweater dress. Heels too high for a courtroom. Hair styled in curls as if she were auditioning for a soap opera. One hand placed theatrically on her stomach, as if she were posing for a maternity magazine.
Dad laughed too loudly at something she was whispering, then looked around to make sure no one had noticed them.
When his gaze fell upon me, it did not soften. Not even a glimmer of recognition.
Just that smug, polite smile.
« Well, if that’s not my daughter, » he said, as if greeting a distant cousin. « You’re ahead of the game. That’s surprising. »
The teacher giggled and moved closer to him.
« Hi, darling, » she said condescendingly. « We’ve heard so much about you. »
I didn’t reply.
Mark gave me this advice: Don’t fall into the trap.
But Dad didn’t need my reaction. He wanted an audience, and the courthouse corridor provided one. Every bench, every chair was occupied by people awaiting their trial.
But they were all watching us now.
Dad thrived because of it.
« You know, » he said loudly, patting his mistress’s stomach as if he were handing out a jackpot on a game show, « the ways of the Lord are mysterious. Just when life seems to be ending, he gives us a reason to live. »
The teacher placed a hand on his heart and looked at him lovingly.
« Our little miracle. »
My throat was on fire, torn between anger and shame – not because of the baby, if it really existed, but because it was so painfully obvious what he was doing.
He wanted to humiliate me.
He wanted the whole city to see him as a revitalized man with a new family, while I remained alone with my files and my quiet dignity.
He leaned towards the couple sitting next to us, complete strangers, and said with theatrical sadness, « My daughter didn’t support me. Of course, some people don’t like to share. »
The foreigners seemed uncomfortable.
I swallowed a small lump of shame that I didn’t deserve.
Mark arrived just then, briefcase in hand. He gave a polite nod to his father, who was puffing out his chest like a bantam rooster.
« Good morning everyone, » my lawyer said calmly. « Isn’t it a beautiful day? »
Dad sniffed. « It’s beautiful to some. »
The teacher tightened her grip on his arm.
« This will be a big day for our baby, » she said. « Family heritage changes everything. » She said it as if she had rehearsed the phrase.
I stiffened.
Dad noticed.
« Oh really? You didn’t know? » he boomed, his voice echoing down the corridor. « My child—my future child—has just as many rights as you. That’s how real families work. »
A few heads turned. Someone murmured.
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