Father’s Day was supposed to be simple—dinner with my wife and daughter, maybe a handmade card from Lily. Instead, it became the day I found out my best friend was her real father.
It started with an innocent question in the car: “Can my real dad come to dinner?” At first, I thought Lily was just being imaginative. But then she said, “Mommy gives him dinner when you’re not home.”
I pretended it was a game, telling her to invite him secretly. But inside, I was breaking.
When Adam walked through my door on Father’s Day, the truth hit me like a truck. Jessica’s face turned pale. I smiled, poured wine, and let Lily’s innocent words do the rest: “He’s my daddy!”
I gave them ten minutes to leave. The next day, I filed for divorce.
That night, Lily asked, “Do you still love me?” I held her close and whispered, “Forever.” Because love isn’t about blood—it’s about who shows up.
