He hadn’t.
Beside the question asking his relationship to the child, he’d written:
Father.
No qualification.
No asterisk.
Just father.
I had spent months chasing biology.
Then one handwritten word reminded me biology had never been the whole story.
On the first anniversary of the night Stephen met Lily, we made apple pie again.
Claire joined by video call.
Gabriel sent Lily a beginner’s watercolor set.
Daniel dropped her off carrying enough balloons for three birthdays.
And Stephen arrived at seven.
Exactly seven.
He knocked instead of using the key I’d recently given him.
I opened the door.
He was holding a wrapped box.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
Then I laughed.
“You did that deliberately.”
“Absolutely.”
Lily came racing down the hall.
“Stephen!”
He stepped inside.
She stopped in front of him.
He looked down at her with exaggerated seriousness.
Then he gasped.
“Oh no.”
I punched him lightly in the arm.
