OP, can I ask you a question?
Can you imagine the level of pain someone must feel when they finally, slowly, come to the realisation that their parent does not love them. Moreover, this is often a parent that they've often spent a lifetime running themselves ragged to please.
It's a special kind of pain.
Dad was never secretive about not having wanted me. A family 'joke' he used to tell was 'I was asked - you have a boy and a girl, what do you want next? And I said 'a miscarriage...'
That was his attitude to me.
It was never a secret that he never wanted me. I thought, if I worked really, really hard, I could change that and make him love me. I was frantic about it. I got all the best grades at school ('98%? What happened to the other 2%?' was another hilarious 'joke'.) I made his hobbies my hobbies so we'd have a reason to hang out. I would staunchly defend him to anyone. I'd get the boot in with my siblings when there were row between them. I was the child and I made it my mission to defend him. He was not going to defend me ever.
He assaulted me a couple of times. I'm not talking about the smack round the back of the legs form of usual punishment. On one occasion he grabbed me and my brother by the hair and cracked our heads together. Another time he picked me up, shook me hard and flung me into a chair. I was totally to blame and at fault here (the first time he misconstrued a conversation I was having with my brother and the second time I had 'cheeked' his friends when they were visiting). All of this I fully believed to be my fault.
So there was I, a child, working my socks off to be the perfect being so that he would love me. And then, when I was 16, he did something that made it utterly apparent that it had not worked. I was not good enough for him.
I didn't go NC with him then. It wasn't until I had children and I suddenly realised how the parent/child relationship should work that I realised that what he had done to me for all those years was harmful. It wasn't until then that I realised that nobody who loved me could have possibly have done what he did. Not just the smacking and the assaults, but the whole package of 'you must not be who you are - you must only be the person I want'.
It was a hard, chokingly horrible time.
And yes, I still, every now and again, reach out to him because god-dammit I still want my father to love me.
The good news is, I've now had a bucketload of therapy, and that's helping with all of the pain a lot. So y'know, it's not all bad!