My mom sent a text saying, “Skip my birthday. We need a break from your kid.” I didn’t argue. I simply turned around and took my baby back home. Two weeks later, when they found out we spent Thanksgiving at a private lodge with friends who flew us out, my mom’s first message was, “Why didn’t you tell us you were going there?” I got angry and replied.

The honesty hit me like cold air.

“That’s not okay,” Dad said firmly. “That’s not how family should treat each other.”

My throat tightened. “No,” I whispered. “It isn’t.”

“I know you’ve given us thousands over the years,” Dad continued. “Kyle told me about the three grand. Brinn mentioned the wedding. I found the roof transfer.”

He swallowed. “You’ve been supporting us while raising a baby alone. And we’ve been ungrateful.”

Worse than ungrateful.

“I want to meet my granddaughter,” he said, voice softening. “Really meet her. Not just five minutes. I want to be her grandfather. And I want to fix this—if you’ll let me.”

I wiped tears off my cheeks, surprised they were there.

“Dad,” I said quietly, “I can’t go back to how things were. I can’t keep proving myself.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “We’re not asking you to. We need to change. We need to do better.”

He hesitated. “Your mom… it’s taking her longer. But she’s listening.”

“What about Brinn and Kyle?” I asked.

Dad sighed. “They’re young and stupid,” he admitted. “But they’re starting to see it.”

After we hung up, I sat in my living room staring at Maisie’s sleeping face.