Years from now, Lily may forget the question she asked or the tension that followed. She might only remember the sunflowers, the pancakes, and the steady comfort of her father’s arms. And that’s enough. Because whatever happened that week, whatever came to light, whatever had to be rebuilt, one thing never changed:
I am her father—not because of a test, not because of paperwork, but because I show up.
And nothing—not confusion, not mistakes, not revelations—will ever undo that truth.
