“I know you think that,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady, “but I’m not her. I’m me, Dad. And I need you to see me.”

He nodded, a slow acknowledgment. “I see you, Sophie. I do. But every time I look at you, I see all the things she never got to do, all the dreams she never fulfilled.” His voice cracked then, and for a moment, he was just a man grappling with his grief.

I reached across the table, touching his hand lightly. “I’m not trying to replace her dreams with mine, Dad. I just want to make my own path, and I need you to be part of it.”