That Sunday, I cooked dinner, poured wine, and waited. At 6:07 p.m., there was a knock. It was Adam—my best friend. My best man. Lily’s “Uncle.” Behind him? My wife, Jessica.Lily, beaming, said, “I told you! He’s my real daddy.” Silence. Then confessions.
They’d planned to tell me “eventually.” I told them to get out—ten minutes. The next day, I filed for divorce.It hurt. But Lily is still mine. Biologically or not, I’m her dad. I always will be. Last night, she whispered, “Are you still my real daddy?” I held her tight and said, “I always have been.”