The Invisible Daughter Ruined Their Lavish Celebrations Chapter 01

The Invisible Daughter Ruined Their Lavish Celebrations Chapter 01

When I was ten, my parents divorced, married other people, and dumped me on my grandma.

The next time I saw them was the summer after senior year.

They walked into the restaurant to book private rooms, and I was working the host stand.

My mom had her arm looped through her stepdaughter’s, all smiles.

“My daughter just got accepted to her dream school, so we want the biggest private room you’ve got.”

My dad walked in holding a little boy’s hand, booking the private room right next door.

“My son’s turning seven, so we’ll need a big one too.”

Their eyes met for a second. Both looked away.

My mom smiled. “A big birthday party for a seven-year-old? Someone’s a spoiled little guy.”

My dad gave a polite nod. “Your daughter’s the impressive one. She’s going places.”

And I was this year’s valedictorian with a perfect GPA, their own flesh-and-blood daughter. Yet neither of them recognized me.

I wiped the grime off my hands onto my apron and wrote down their reservations.

My mom ordered a whole seafood spread. She said her daughter couldn’t get enough of it.

My dad brought a custom fondant cake and asked to keep it in the walk-in fridge.

On her way out, my mom tossed the question out like an afterthought. “Whatever happened to… what was her name again? Haven’t heard a thing. Did she bomb her SATs?”

My dad went still. “No idea. She hasn’t reached out.”

I didn’t look up. Just kept typing my reply to the real estate agent.

Once Grandma’s house sold, there’ be nothing keeping me here.

…

At six, the manager showed up in the back kitchen. Something was wrong with the decorations in one of the private rooms, and the guests wanted whoever was responsible to come apologize in person.

I peeled off my dishwashing gloves and apron, scrubbing at the grease stains on my shirt.

They didn’t come off. Just smeared wider.

I pressed my lips together and followed the manager to my mom’s private room.

Through the door, I could hear her soothing Chloe Hayes.

“Chloe, honey, don’t be upset. Their staff can’t even blow up a balloon right. It’s not your fault.”

“Didn’t you want that new laptop and phone? We’ll go right after this. The newest models, whatever you want.”

I dropped my gaze to my sneakers, scrubbed so many times the canvas had faded to gray.

Next month’s rent was still up in the air. Without this job, it’d be ramen for another four weeks.

I pushed the door open and kept my head down. “I’m sorry. That one’s on me.”

“Save it!”

Chloe jabbed a finger at the arch. “The one at the very top is completely deflated. It ruined every single photo!”

My mom rubbed her back. “I know, I know. They’ll redo the whole thing. Fresh balloons. Every single one.”

I climbed the ladder and reached for the deflated balloon.

A woman next to my mom, Ms. Jones, turned to her own kid.

“See that? That’s what happens when you slack off in school. You end up busing tables for minimum wage. You need to be more like Chloe.”

My mom pulled Chloe closer, beaming.

“My Chloe has it all. Beauty and brains. She crushed it this year, way beyond anything we expected.”

I kept my face blank, pushed down everything rising in my chest, and filled the replacement balloon in one breath.

I couldn’t remember the last time my mom had called me sweet. Or smart. Or anything.

All I had were memories of screaming matches with my dad. Slammed doors. Shattered dishes.

When she was angry, I was the nearest target. I was an eyesore. A burden. The reason her life fell apart.

When I got into the district’s elite magnet school, I snuck Grandma’s phone, found my mom’s number, and sent her a text. Her answer came back fast.

[I’m happy now. Please don’t contact me again.]

Looking at them now, I wanted to tell her my grades left Chloe’s in the dust.

That I was a good kid too. That I wouldn’t be any trouble.

That I didn’t want anything from her. I just… missed her.

But she didn’t know. Or maybe she just didn’t want to.

I finished with the balloon and barely made it out the door before someone in the next room flagged me down.

“Hey, you. Come help with the cake.”

Inside, my dad had one arm around his little boy, snapping photos.

He caught me at the edge of the shot and scowled. “You couldn’t step out of the frame? Does anyone here know basic manners?”

I backed into the corner.

My dad picked up a birthday crown from the table, shaped like a superhero mask.

“Hey, buddy, check it out. Your favorite superhero. I had this custom-made just for you. Pretty cool, right?”

The kid tore around the room waving an action figure, yelling “Get the bad guys!” at the top of his lungs.

My dad laughed and chased after him, one hand ready to shield him from the table corners, the other dabbing sweat off the boy’s forehead with a napkin.

The tenderness on his face stopped me cold. For a second, I wasn’t sure I was looking at the same man.

When I was five, my dad forgot I was allergic to mangoes. I ended up in the hospital for a week.

At eight, he got the date wrong for the Father-Daughter Dance. The other kids called me the girl with no dad for the rest of the year.

Earlier this year, Grandma got sick and died. By the time I got the news and made it back to our hometown, the funeral was already over.

The neighbor, Ms. Miller, told me my dad hadn’t even remembered which school I went to. Didn’t have my teacher’s number either. So nobody thought to call me.

Turns out his memory was fine. He wasn’t careless.

He just never cared enough to use it for me.

I turned around and pulled the door shut on all that noise.

I looked up and found myself staring at a familiar face.

I froze.

“Why are you here?”