The first time Lily mentioned it, I laughed it off.
It sounded like the kind of odd, innocent thing children sometimes say without understanding the weight of their words. We were driving home from daycare when she suddenly asked, “Daddy, can we invite my real dad to dinner on Father’s Day?”
My grip tightened on the steering wheel, though I forced a light laugh and asked her what she meant. Lily, only five years old, kicked her feet happily and explained that a man came over sometimes when I was at work. He brought her chocolate. He sat with Mommy while they talked. Mommy cooked for him. And he told Lily that he was her “real daddy.”
My chest felt tight, but I kept my voice calm, suggesting she might be confused or imagining things. Lily shook her head firmly, her certainty unsettling. That night, sleep wouldn’t come. I lay awake replaying her words, caught between disbelief and a growing fear that something was terribly wrong.
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