Be honest with me. How would you react if your own father announced at a family dinner that you should cease to exist? Would you cry, fight back, or would you do what I did—grant his wish in the most devastating way possible?
December 23rd, 6:00 p.m.
Eighteen family members gathered in the Seattle mansion I’d been secretly funding.
My father, the great Dr.
Robert Ifield, stood up with his wine glass and declared:
“The best Christmas gift would be if Willow disappeared from this family entirely.”
The whole family went silent.
No one defended me.
My brother laughed.
They had no idea they were applauding their own financial ruin. See, while they mocked my “useless tech career,” I’d been paying $4,800 monthly for their utilities, covering Dad’s missed mortgage payments, and co-signing the very loan that kept a roof over their heads.
Total damage: $500,400 over eight years.
I’m Willow, 32 years old, and tomorrow at the hospital’s biggest gala, I would reveal something that would make my father wish he’d never opened his mouth.
I was about to become his boss. If you’re watching this, please subscribe and let me know where you are watching from.
The Ifield name carries weight in Seattle medical circles.
Three generations of doctors, all trained at prestigious institutions, all published in renowned journals.
My grandfather pioneered cardiac surgery techniques still taught today.
My father, Dr.
Robert Ifield, heads the surgical department at Seattle Grace Hospital. My brother Michael just completed his residency in neurosurgery.
Then there’s me—the family disappointment who chose computer science over medicine.
Every Sunday dinner at our Queen Anne mansion became a masterclass in subtle humiliation. While Michael regaled everyone with OR victories, I sat quietly knowing my work in healthcare AI meant nothing to them.
“Willow plays with computers,” my father would say, waving dismissively.
“Not exactly saving lives.”
The irony burned.
I’d been co-signer on the very mortgage for this house since 2016, when Dad’s malpractice settlement tanked his credit score.
Without my 790 FICO, he’d never have qualified for that coveted 3.9% rate.
But in his mind, co-signing wasn’t a real contribution. Neither was paying every single utility bill.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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