When my daughter Lily dropped the line, “Mommy, can I invite my real daddy to dinner on Father’s Day?” the air in the car felt like thick molasses. My heart slammed against my ribs. “Real daddy”? The words spun me. I gripped the steering wheel, trying to ground myself.
Masking panic with a smile, I turned it into a game. “That’s a top-secret mission. Just between us.” Her eyes lit up; secrets and games suited childhood magic. Relieved, I redirected the moment—but inside my mind was spinning.
Sunday rolled in. My wife was out for an engagement shoot—on Father’s Day. Strange, but I brushed off the unease. I made pancakes, decorated the table with sunflowers, and planned a cozy dinner just for us and Lily.
The doorbell rang. My heart squeezed. I took a deep breath—and opened the door. There he was. My mind raced, questions doubled over, but all I felt was something warm rising in my chest: love, waiting to be met.
