“You’re not my dad.” She said it like a switch flipped. Ten years of scraped knees, school plays, and heartbreaks—all erased. I didn’t get angry. I told her calmly: “Then you don’t get to treat me like a punching bag.” She wasn’t used to me pushing back. Slammed door. Silence. Later, Claire said, “She’s hurting. At her dad. At me....