Because my sisters and I were not males, my father discarded us like junk mail. He did this for no other reason than that. A number of years later, I made certain that he was really regretting it in ways that he had not anticipated, replete with attorneys and courtrooms.

Despite the fact that I am now nineteen years old, I can vividly recall the precise moment when I discovered that my father did not love me. There was no commotion; there was no yelling, and there were no doors that were smashed. It was simply a quiet, penetrating awareness that nestled into my chest and never truly lifted. His indifference toward me and my sisters became the driving force that molded a significant portion of my life, and in the end, it was this indifference that compelled me to approach him in the one and only manner that I knew would ultimately cause him to notice us.

A popsicle was melting down my fingers as I sat cross-legged on our aging living room sofa. I was probably between the ages of five and six at the time. I was looking at the framed photographs of my family that were displayed on the mantle. These photographs included pictures from our birthdays, vacations, and even the hospital where we were born.

And I was able to see it.

My father’s face in the photograph of him holding me when I was a baby did not show any signs of anger or happiness. No one was there. As if I were some kind of incorrect order that he was unable to return.

The eldest of four females, I am the oldest. To begin, my name is Julia, and then my sister Mia, then Sophie, and finally my youngest daughter Grace. The fact that my father had four daughters in a row was a source of concern for him.

Mom once let it slip that shortly after I was born, in the hospital, dad had mumbled, “Don’t get too attached. ” Dad never explicitly told us that he preferred boys instead of daughters. We are going to give it another go.” In spite of the fact that he never called us errors, you could hear it in the things that he did not say. Only frigid eyes and silence were exchanged between them; there were no embraces, no “I’m proud of you,” and not even a casual expression of love.

Every time his mother had another child and it turned out to be a female, he became more resentful of the situation. The animosity that was there in our home was so intense that it was practically palpable by the time Grace was born; it was like a haze from which you could not escape.

It is his answer? When something is out of sight, it is also out of memory.

Beginning while I was still a little child, my father began delivering each of us to Grandma Margaret’s residence in a sequential manner. On the day before my first birthday, I was the first one to go. Afterward, Mia, one year later. Then there is Sophie. Then there is Grace. In order to maintain his image, he would wait a few months, and then he would stealthily give the next one to Grandma, as if it were an undesirable piece of furniture.

It was not because she did not care about the matter that Grandma never battled him over it; rather, she was terrified of him. She once told me, “If I pushed too hard,” as her hands were tenderly stroking an old baby blanket that belonged to Grace. “He might cut off all contact.” I had the impression that perhaps… perhaps one day he will alter his mind.

Neither did his mother try to stop him. She having married at an early age, she had given up her hopes of attending college, and by that time, she seemed to be fatigued to someone who just did what she was told. Not because we were females, but because we kept coming into the world when she wasn’t prepared to be a mother, I believe that she harbored some resentment against us as well.

Our house eventually became the residence of Grandma Margaret. She would make cookies for us when we were ill and tell bedtime tales with the same level of attention each and every night. It was a cozy and cozy place. Never once did she shout. Since Grandma baked four little cakes for each of us on our birthdays, we never had to worry about having to share our special day with anybody else.

Infrequently, our parents would call. Occasionally, a birthday card would be sent, and it would always be inscribed “Love, Mom and Dad,” but it would never include a message. Whenever I was a child, I would conceal the cards under my pillow and act as if the words had been wiped by mistake.

When I was nine years old, I happened to overhear a phone conversation that profoundly altered my life. During the time when Grandma was answering the phone in the kitchen, I saw that her shoulders were quite tight. I was instructed to keep my sisters in the living room, but I remained just outside the doorway, listening to her. She offered me a cup of cocoa and ordered me to keep them there.

It’s a boy, that’s for sure! Mom’s voice was brimming with joy as she spoke. “We gave him the name Lucas.”

Father’s laughing could be heard coming from the other end of the line. Laughter that is genuine.

Instead of coming to see their girls for the first time in years, they came to see us a week later to show off Lucas, their “miracle” baby. This was the first time they had seen us in years. He carried a silver rattle that had his name etched on it and dressed expensive clothing when he made his appearance. The expression on Dad’s face changed when he held him, but it had never changed for us.

Immediately after that, they vanished once again. There have been no updates. There will be no birthday invites sent. All of a sudden, it seemed as if we had been removed from their family.

I had the impression that wasn’t the end of it.

Nevertheless, eight years later, everything underwent another change.

A lawyer visited Grandma’s home when I was seventeen years old and inquired about her ex-husband, Walter, who was my grandpa who had been divorced from her for a long time. It was the first time I had ever encountered him. The narrative went that he had departed decades previously, on the grounds that he was unable to deal with the demands of family life any more.

But the reality was that Walter had set up a life for himself after he had departed. He did this by establishing a prosperous construction firm, making investments in real estate, and amassing a fortune for himself. At this point, he was irreversibly ill. Because he was working on Walter’s inheritance, the attorney said that he need the names of his grandkids who were directly related to him.

When Grandma mentioned our names, she did it without any hesitation.

After overhearing her conversation about a lawyer, her father became intrigued and began looking through her mailbox. She was completely unaware of this. He discovered a return address, linked it to Walter’s name, and then recognized that there was money involved in the situation.

Exactly two weeks later, Mom and Dad drove up to Grandma’s house in a U-Haul that they had leased, beaming from ear to ear.

“We thought it was time to reconnect,” Dad continued, his voice brimming with an air of phony affection.

Clearly, Grandma was taken aback.

In a hushed voice, Mom said, “It’s been too long,” as she avoided making eye contact with anybody.

When I wanted to face Dad, I went outdoors. Why is it now?

It was conveyed in a level-headed manner, “We want you home, where you belong.”

The following evening, they gathered us up and left us. Even though she had never submitted a guardianship petition, Grandma had never given up hope that they would return because they loved us. She was powerless to stop them.

It was clear to me that this was not about love.

After returning to their home, it was clear that Dad desired for us to reside under his roof in the event that Walter passed away. This would allow him to acquire any legacy that may be bestowed to us.

My former bedroom had been transformed into Lucas’s Lego kingdom on the floor. On sofas and in sleeping bags, we laid down to sleep. The seven-year-old boy, Lucas, looked at us as if we were trespassers. When I was sleeping one night, I overheard him asking his mother, “Why are the girl-servants here?”

Hell ensued for the following three weeks. Laundry, dishes, babysitting, and whatever else that Dad could think of were all things that we did as unpaid housemaids. Lucas imitated their demeanor by referring to us as “useless girls” as if it were a joke that was spoken inside the family.

I’d had enough of it by the time daybreak arrived on a chilly morning. The only person I believed may be able to assist me was six miles away, so I went there, packed a suitcase, and embraced my sisters while they were sleeping.

Ivy was crawling up the fence of Walter’s home, which was located on the outskirts of town and had white paint that was peeling neatly. He was shocked but not harsh as he answered the door while dressed in a robe.

When he saw me, he immediately recognized me and exclaimed, “You must be Julia.”

While we were sitting in his peaceful kitchen, I shared everything with him, from Grandma’s attempt to raise us to Dad’s unexpected “reunion.” It wasn’t until I informed him that Grace had begun referring to herself as “the spare girl” that I finally broke down.

During that extended period of silence, he was fixated on his hands.

When he finally spoke, he said, “I left your grandmother because I believed that I was not suitable for a family arrangement.” I had a mistake. And I’m not going to allow him to treat you ladies in the same manner that I treated her.

His call to Grandma came the next day. “I have finished hiding. Let’s make this right.”

It had been more than twenty years since she had last seen him, and she broke down in tears.

It was Walter’s niece, Marissa, who was a sharp-tongued family lawyer who had her own personal vendetta against her father from when she was in high school. A week later, they submitted a guardianship petition, alleging years of emotional maltreatment and abandonment as the reason for their request.

We acquired photographs, paperwork from the school, and even an old text message from our father in which he referred to us as “financial deadweight.”

The court battle continued for many months. The assertion that we were “confused” and “manipulated” was made by our father. On top of that, he claimed that Walter had kidnapped me. However, the judge did not believe it.

In the end, Grandma was awarded guardianship, and it was given to her forever.

Is that Walter? Rewriting his will, he left everything to me, Mia, Sophie, and Grace. He left everything to me. No money for Lucas, his mother, or his father.

He informed us, “You have come a long way.” everything is all of everything.

And then nothing happened. When Dad found out, he blew, making angry calls and sending furious SMS. In addition, Mom stopped calling. My guess is that she felt relieved. Lucas did not leave his realm, where he was surrounded by toys but had no one to play with his toys with.

When we felt like we belonged there, we went back to Grandma’s home. Walter spent the final two years of his life trying to make up for lost time by doing things like teaching Sophie how to fish, assisting Mia in building a birdhouse, reading history books with Grace, and purchasing my very first camera.

At the time of his passing, we were all present. The words “I should have come back sooner” were murmured to me as he clutched my hand. But I’m happy that I was able to do something in the end.”

Same goes for me.