Why can't he sign my birthday card?

Every birthday, I wake up and make a wish that this year I will have an extra birthday card from my dad waiting on the table. A secret one that Katya, his wife, will never know about it. My mother always puts the cards on the table with a little cake for me and a cup of tea for when I come downstairs. She has a balloon tied to the chair, and I think she is more excited than I am. I signal I am coming downstairs by slamming the bathroom door, giving her time to do her 'surprise!!!'

I open the cards one by one. It's obvious who the sender is from the handwriting, and she puts his one at the bottom of the pile. She learnt to do this quite a few years ago because after opening his, I would ignore the rest of the pile, stomp out of the house and claim I was late for school.

He does this thing where he drives by late at night and pops it through our letterbox like he is a weird version of Santa.

Today I am 18. I open the cards and read the amusing messages about alcohol and adulthood. My mother's card is cheesy Hallmark, and I love it. I sigh as I open his card. His? Theirs. As expected, written by Katya, chosen by Katya, signed by Katya for him. I can picture him nodding approval as she places the card in the envelope. The same message for the last 14 years.

"Happy Birthday, All our Love.....Dad and Katya"

Would it be so hard to write a card to me? Do you not care about that special day 18 years ago where you looked at me in the hospital and swore to care and love me forever? Does she have total control or are you lazy and selfish? You used to wrap me up in hugs and laughter, read to me, assure me you loved me to Jupiter, way cooler than the moon. I used to feel loved.

18, and all I want is a card written and signed by my father.

I hug my mother, she squeezes me a little longer than necessary. I throw my jacket into my bag, stomp into the hallway and put my trainers on. Run to the bus and head to school.

I hate my birthday. I hate holding onto hope. I hate that I need this from him. I swear to myself I will stop calling him, stop caring for him, stop visiting, but then I cave in. Maybe one day I will say something, or walk away.

You know this isn't just about the card? It's how little I matter to him.

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