My Daughter Left Me Out Of The Baptism: “There’s No Place For You, Dad.” I Went Back Home And…

Sunday Morning Reckoning

Sunday morning at 6:00, I made coffee and poured a bowl of oatmeal. I set my phone on the kitchen table and turned it on: 22 missed calls, 22 voicemails. I hit play.

“You selfish old bastard!” Colin’s voice shouted, recorded Saturday around 6:30. “Do you have any idea what you just did? My investors were there, important people! You’ve destroyed everything!”

I took a bite of oatmeal. Next message.

“Daddy, please,” Jillian was crying. “People are laughing at us. Everyone saw. Please call back.”

Colin again.

“This isn’t over. You can’t just—”

Jillian again.

“Daddy, I’m begging you.”

I listened to all 22. I didn’t skip a second. The oatmeal was gone by message 15. I was on my second cup of coffee by message 20. The last one was Jillian at midnight, just sobbing—no words.

When it finished, I sat there for a minute and looked out the window. It was a quiet Sunday morning on a quiet street, with Naen’s roses starting to bloom. Then I deleted all 22 messages, every single one.

I poured a third cup of coffee. I had work tomorrow; the garage doesn’t run itself. But today, today I was going to enjoy my Sunday.

Around 10:30, I heard a car pull into my driveway, loud and angry, with doors slamming. I sat down my coffee and waited. The banging on my door could have woken the whole neighborhood. I sat down my coffee and walked to the front door, taking my time. I let them wait.

When I opened it, Colin and Jillian looked like they’d been through a war. Colin’s expensive suit was wrinkled, his collar was open, and his hair was pointing in every direction. Jillian still wore that cream dress from yesterday, with mascara smeared down her face.

Colin didn’t wait for an invitation. He pushed past me into my living room.

“What the hell were you thinking?” his voice came out loud enough to rattle the windows. “Do you have any idea what you just did?”

I closed the door and followed him in. I stood there with my arms crossed.

“I know exactly what I did.” “My investors were there!” he was pacing now, hands in fists. “People I’ve been courting for months, and you humiliated us! Made us look like—” “Like what?” I cut him off. “Like you don’t actually have money? Like you’ve been living off my dime? That what you’re upset about, Colin? The truth coming out?” “Daddy, people were laughing at us!” Jillian stepped forward, tears streaming. “My friends, they all saw.” “Your friends?” I looked at her, really looked at her. “Where were my friends yesterday, Jillian? Oh, right. There was no room for me. I didn’t fit in.”

She flinched like I’d slapped her. Colin got between us.

“You need to fix this. Call the venue, pay them, apologize. We can still salvage—” “I’m not fixing anything.” “You will fix this! That house you live in—” “I kept my voice level, calm,” I interrupted. “The one in Broad Ripple? That’s mine. It’s been mine for 8 years. You’ve been living there rent-free.”

Colin stopped pacing.

“That was a gift! You gave that to Jillian when we got married!” “I let you live there. Past tense. You’ll get an eviction notice Monday morning.” “You can’t!” “That Lexus you drive? $680 a month comes out of my account automatically. Not anymore.”

His face was changing color—red to white to red again.

“That office on Mass Ave where you meet your so-called investors? I own that building. Your lease is terminated. Locks get changed Monday.” “Dad, you can’t do this!” Jillian grabbed my arm. “We have Liam!”

I pulled my arm away.

“You want to treat me like I don’t exist, like I’m just an ATM you tap when you need cash? Fine. Then my money doesn’t exist either.”

Colin moved fast, grabbed my shirt, and pulled me close. For a second, I thought he might actually hit me.

“You can’t do this,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “We’ll sue. We’ll have you declared incompetent. You’re clearly not thinking straight. No sane person would.”

I didn’t move. I didn’t blink. I just stared at him until he let go.

“Get out of my house.” “We’ll take everything,” Colin said. “The garage, the properties, all of it. You’re senile. Any judge will see.” “Get out.” “Dad, please,” Jillian tried one more time. “What about Liam? He’s your grandson.”

That stopped me for a second. Just a second.

“Liam deserves better than parents who use people. Maybe losing everything will teach you how to be those parents.”

I walked to the door and opened it.

“Now, get out.”

The Desperate Move

Colin grabbed Jillian’s arm and started pulling her toward the door. She was crying again, saying something I couldn’t make out. At the door, Colin turned back and got real close, his voice so low only I could hear.

“You’re going to regret this, old man.”

The way he said it made my blood run cold. It wasn’t angry or desperate; it was calculated and threatening. They left. I watched their car peel out of my driveway, tires squealing.

I stood there for a minute, then pulled out my phone and speed-dialed Marvin. He answered on the second ring.

“Hector, what’s wrong?” “Colin just threatened me in my house. We need a plan fast.”

Marvin met me at Shapiro’s Deli at 1:00. Best pastrami in Indianapolis. We’ve been eating there for 30 years. He slid into the booth across from me, looked at my face, and said:

“So what did the son of a bitch do?”

I told him about the threat. The way Colin said it—cold, calculated, not just desperate anymore. Marvin didn’t look surprised.

“I warned you about that guy. I know he’s going to play the incompetence card. Classic move. Get you declared senile, take control of everything.”

He bit into his sandwich.

“You need to get ahead of it.” “How?” “Psych evaluation today, if possible. Get a doctor to certify you’re sound before he can shop for one who will say you’re not.”

I pulled out my phone and called Lawrence Bishop, my lawyer for 20 years. I left a message marked urgent. He called back before we finished eating.

“Hector, what’s the emergency?” “Need to see you first thing Monday. My son-in-law is threatening to have me declared incompetent.” “I’ll be at the office at 8:00. Bring Marvin.”

Monday morning, Lawrence laid it out plain.

“We need Dr. Barbara Sutton. She’s credible, thorough. If she says you’re competent, no judge will question it.”

She fit me in at 9:30. Two hours of tests: memory, logic puzzles, emotional assessment. She asked me to count backward from 100 by sevens, draw a clock, and name the last five presidents. At the end, she signed a document.

“Mr. Wallace, you’re sharper than most 40-year-olds I evaluate. Here’s your certificate, dated and notarized.”

I folded it into my wallet. While I was protecting myself, Colin’s day was getting worse. Norman Ellis changed the locks on that Mass Ave office at noon, just like I told him to.

Colin showed up at 12:30 with two clients. He stood there trying his key over and over while they watched. Finally, he called the building owner and got my voicemail. The clients left. Word spreads fast in business circles.

At 1:00, Jillian was at Kroger with a cart full of groceries: diapers, formula, real food for the first time in months. They’d been ordering takeout on my dime. Her card got declined at checkout. She tried another. Declined. A third. Declined.

People in line behind her were staring. The cashier tried to be sympathetic.

“Do you have another form of payment?”

Jillian left the cart and walked out with Liam crying in her arms. She called me from the parking lot.

“Dad, my cards don’t work. I have Liam. I need diapers.” “You’ve got two choices, Jillian. Get a job or ask Colin’s business partners for help. You know, the ones who were more important than me.” “You’re a monster!”

I hung up. Should I have felt guilty? Maybe. But I’d worked 40 years, built everything from nothing, and she’d thrown me away like trash.

The phone rang at 3:30 from an unknown number. I almost didn’t answer. I let it go to voicemail.

“Mr. Wallace, this is Dr. Randall Cross. I specialize in elderly care evaluations. Your family has expressed concerns about your well-being. I’ll be visiting you soon to conduct an assessment. Please don’t be alarmed; this is purely precautionary.”

I played it again, then a third time. That smooth voice—”purely precautionary.” I saved the message and called Marvin.

“He’s already making his move,” I said. “Found himself a doctor.” “You got that certificate from Dr. Sutton?” “In my wallet.” “Good. Keep your doors locked, Hector. If he’s desperate enough to hire a fake doctor, he’s desperate enough to do something stupid.”

I looked at my front door and thought about Colin’s face when he’d grabbed my shirt, that cold look in his eyes.

“Yeah,” I said. “I think you’re right.”