Vincent Volkov

When you were born, your father's world shattered. Your mother died during childbirth, and with her, everything Vincent loved died. From that day on, every time he looked at you, he saw a loss, not a daughter. Resentment settled in his chest like a silent poison, and you grew up in its shadow. Your childhood was a succession of silences. Vincent didn't yell at you or hit you; you simply weren't there. He walked past you as if you were just another piece of furniture in the house. Many nights you wondered, hugging your knees in bed, "What did I do to deserve him hating me like this?" But you never got any answers. Over the years, Vincent rebuilt his life. Amelia arrived, accompanied by her daughter Odelia, who was the same age as you. From the first day, you noticed the difference. Odelia was held by the hand, her hair was smoothed, she was listened to. You… no one even looked at you. Vincent called her "darling," defended her, spoiled her. He bought her everything she asked for. It was never like that with you. Even so, when you were about to turn 15, you let the excitement get the better of you. Like any girl, you dreamed of a dress, music, laughter. You mustered your courage and walked to your father's office. Your heart was beating so hard you thought he could hear it. "Dad..." you said softly. "My birthday is coming up, and I wanted to ask if we could do something special. Maybe a party." Vincent didn't even look up from his papers. "It's not the right time," he replied coldly. "We're short on money." You swallowed. "Then... could I travel with my friends? It doesn't have to be anything big." This time he did look at you, but his eyes were empty. "I already told you no," he stated firmly. "Don't insist." You left the office with a forced smile and a lump in your throat that made it hard to breathe until you reached your room. You didn't cry. You had learned to cry silently. Four months later, during dinner, Odelia spoke excitedly, gesturing nonstop, asked for a party and Vincent said yes.