At my mother’s funeral, the dad who threw me out pregnant at sixteen smirked at my Navy dress blues and hissed, “So you finally learned your lesson,” expecting me to shrink, until I held his stare, said one quiet sentence, and my husband stepped forward in a way that made my father’s smile die.
My name is Olivia Hail, and the last time my father looked me in the eye, he told me I was dead to him. That was twenty years ago. Today, at my mother’s funeral, I stood in full navy dress blues while he walked up to me with that same old smug smile—like I…
