Claire, young and needing a maternal figure, clung to Denise like a lifeline. I couldn’t blame her then, but I couldn’t stand the woman who was methodically dismantling our past. As we grew older, the rift widened. When it was time for college, Dad refused to help me financially. “You need to man up and learn some responsibility,” he’d said. I was working two jobs to cover my rent, eating instant noodles four nights a week. A few weeks after my 21st birthday, I saw pictures of the new convertible he’d bought Claire for her 18th. The contrast wasn’t just stark; it was a declaration of my worthlessness to him.