During the yearly family meal at the elegant dining hall, Richard announced with a sneer, «I take pride in all my kids

The grand foyer was already crowded with relatives, the usual mix of actual family and my father’s carefully curated collection of connections who were treated as honorary members of the Matthews clan. Aunt Linda, mother’s sister, approached. Immediately with air kisses and rapid-fire questions about my love life, while Uncle George offered a hearty handshake and a booming, there’s our Wall Street Wizard, which I knew would irritate my father if within earshot.

Cousins, second cousins, and family friends swirled around in predictable patterns. The same conversations repeated annually with minor updates, everyone performing their assigned roles in the Matthews family theater. My father’s entrance was exactly as choreographed as I expected, walking in from the garden with three business associates, all laughing at something surely only moderately amusing but treated as hilarious due, to the speaker’s net worth.

His eyes swept the room, acknowledging various guests with nods and brief greetings until landing on me. The flicker of recognition was followed by the briefest tightening of his lips, before he nodded exactly as he had to distant relatives, and walked toward mother to murmur something in her ear. No particular greeting for me, his middle child, the daughter who had just gifted him an automobile worth more than most people’s annual salaries.

I pretended not to notice, engaged in conversation with my cousin Rachel about her medical residency, but the familiar sting of dismissal burned all the same. Mother materialized at my side moments later, touching my arm gently. Darling, your father mentioned you brought a new car for him.

How incredibly generous, she said, her eyes communicating a mixture of gratitude and concern about the extravagance. Please come say hello to the Stephensons, they just got back from a financial conference in Singapore and would love your insights. This was mother’s way, always running interference, creating social buffers, manufacturing reasons for interactions that should come naturally between family members.

James arrived fashionably late, as was his custom, making an entrance with his perfect wife Rebecca and their two perfect children, receiving the warm paternal embrace I’d spent decades trying to earn. Dad, the new car is insane. When did you decide to upgrade, he asked, and I watched in disbelief as my father clapped him on the shoulder and responded.

Sometimes you need to treat yourself, son. Success has its privileges, with no mention of the gift or my contribution. Sophia intercepted me before I could process this blatant erasure, pulling me into a genuine hug that lingered just long enough to communicate her understanding.

I heard about your promotion. That’s amazing, Liz, seriously groundbreaking, she whispered, using my childhood nickname that no one else used anymore. Her sincerity was a balm, but the contrast with our father’s indifference only highlighted the disparity.

As appetizers circulated carried by hired staff, I noticed my father leading a group of his business associates toward the front drive, gesturing animatedly. Through the large bay windows I could see him showing off the Mercedes, opening doors, pointing out features, his face alive with a pride I’d never seen directed at me. He’s been doing that all morning, Sophia murmured, appearing at my elbow, with a glass of wine that I gratefully accepted.

Three separate tours for different groups of his cronies. Mother told me you bought it for him. That was incredibly generous, Liz.

I sipped the wine, watching as my father settled into the driver’s seat, inviting one of his associates to experience the passenger-side luxury. Generosity wasn’t my motivation, I admitted quietly. Just once, I wanted him to see me as successful, as worthy of notice.

Pathetic, right? Sophia squeezed my arm. Not pathetic. Human.

But Liz, you need to understand. She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. Dad will never give you what you’re looking for.

It’s not because you don’t deserve it, but because he isn’t capable of it. Something in him is broken when it comes to you specifically. Her words hit with surprising force.

Not because they were new information, but because hearing someone else acknowledge the dynamic I’d experienced my entire life made it suddenly, painfully real in a way my private thoughts never had. The weight of the paternity test in my purse seemed to double, the sealed envelope a ticking bomb I both wanted to detonate and desperately hoped to contain. The hour before dinner unfolded with the predictable rhythm of Matthew’s family gatherings, everyone migrating to the formal living room with its uncomfortable antique furniture and aggressively tasteful decor selected by mother, but approved, by father in the only domestic domain where his opinion reigned supreme.

I positioned myself strategically on a window seat, slightly removed from the main conversation circle, nursing a second glass of wine and observing the familiar family dynamics. With newfound clarity, the knowledge of my genetic otherness creating an almost anthropological detachment, James naturally commanded the center of attention, regaling the assembled family with tales of his latest real estate acquisition, a struggling shopping complex he planned to transform into luxury condominiums. The initial investment looked risky to my partners but I saw the potential everyone else missed, he explained, with our father nodding approvingly from his leather armchair throne.

That’s the Matthew’s instinct, father interjected proudly, seeing opportunity where others see failure. It’s in the blood. The irony of his statement wasn’t lost on me, the phantom weight of the envelope in my purse growing heavier with each blood-related claim.

The conversation shifted inevitably in my direction as James concluded his self-congratulatory monologue. Eliza, Richard tells me you’ve moved up at your firm, my uncle Robert remarked, genuine interest in his voice. Senior investment strategist, isn’t it? Impressive for someone your age.

Before I could respond, father cleared his throat. It’s a good stepping stone position, the financial sector is volatile though, always has been, not like having something tangible like property, he turned toward James. Real assets withstand market fluctuations, they persist through generations…