After my dad married Jane and her three kids, I slowly stopped being his priority.
Every plan we made? Canceled.
Every promise? Replaced with an excuse.

“We already saw a movie this week.”
“The twins’ room needed painting.”
“The twins only turn ten once.”

I got tired of asking.
Good thing Mom always showed up for me.

Fast-forward: I’m graduating at the top of my class.
Dad hands me money for my graduation party… then asks for it back two days later.

“Your stepbrother needs it more.”

I didn’t argue. I just gave it to him.
Silence says more than screaming sometimes.

Graduation day comes. Parents were invited on stage.
Dad stood up to join me — smiling, proud — until he froze.

Because I wasn’t walking alone.

I walked onstage holding the hand of the only parent who never made me feel like a burden.
My mom.

Dad’s face dropped. Jane looked confused.
And I finally said the words I’ve carried for years:

“You traded me for convenience.
She raised me for real.”

The crowd went silent.
Mom squeezed my hand.
Dad sat back down.

That was the first time he realized what “afterthought” really feels like.