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You never expect your world to change in the backseat of a car — but mine did when my five-year-old daughter, Lily, asked, “Daddy, can we invite my real dad to dinner on Sunday?”
It was the Friday before Father’s Day. At first, I laughed, thinking it was childish confusion. But she explained that my best friend, Adam — also my wife Jess’s “friend” — told her he was her real dad.
That night, I invited Adam over under the guise of a surprise dinner. When he arrived, and Jess admitted to secret visits, the truth hit hard. They’d let Lily believe he was her father.
But I knew better.
I raised Lily. I held her through nightmares, taught her to ride a bike, kissed scraped knees.
I told them to leave.
Later, Lily asked, “Will you be here on my next birthday?”
I held her close.
“I’ll be here for all of them.”
