One Friday before Father’s Day, my five-year-old daughter Lily asked, “Daddy, can we invite my real dad to dinner on Sunday?” Shocked, I asked what she meant. She explained that Adam—my best friend and my wife Jess’s boyfriend—told her he was her “real daddy.” I laughed it off, but deep down, I felt shaken.

Instead of confronting Jess immediately, I turned Lily’s request into a secret “game.” On Sunday, while Jess claimed she had a photoshoot, Lily and I prepared dinner. When the doorbell rang, Adam stood there—smiling. My heart sank.

Jess and Adam stumbled through explanations. They had been secretly visiting Lily, confusing her by calling Adam her real father. Jess finally admitted she was afraid I’d stop loving Lily if I knew the truth. I told them both to leave.

I held Lily and said, “I’m your dad in every way that matters.” She smiled, unaware of the betrayal that had just unfolded.

The next day, I filed for divorce. Jess didn’t fight it. I blocked Adam. Paternity tests began, but I already knew: Lily is mine—not just by blood, but by love. That night, she asked, “You’re my forever daddy, right?” I kissed her forehead and whispered, “Always.”