I found a note tucked in my daughter Lily’s backpack that read, “I’m your real dad. Meet me behind the school on the last Monday of September.” The words hit me hard. I had been Lily’s father since the day she was born. Her mother, my late wife Kate, who passed away six years ago, never hinted at anything like this. Could there have been a secret she kept from me?
That Monday, I parked near Lily’s school, watching as she approached a tall man standing by the fence—Jeff, a former coworker who had recently lost his job. He spoke gently, claiming to be Lily’s biological father and insisting that Kate had wanted Lily to know the truth. Anger surged through me as I confronted him, declaring he had no right to confuse my daughter. But Jeff remained composed, asserting that Lily had a right to know.
Determined to uncover the truth, I investigated Jeff’s background and learned that he was lying. His history of deceit and his termination for falsifying records confirmed my suspicions. Relieved, I sat down with Lily and reassured her that I would always be her father, no matter what anyone else said.
A few days later, the police called to inform me that Jeff had been arrested for stalking another family. Holding Lily close, I knew this experience had left its mark, but we would face whatever came next—together.
