When Father’s Day Came with Glitter, Cookies, and the Truth
Kyle hadn’t called in weeks. No messages, no visits, no effort. But just in time for Father’s Day, he resurfaced with a simple text:
“Thinking of stopping by Sunday to see Emma.”
After six months of silence—no child support, no check-ins—he suddenly remembered he had a daughter. Not because of concern, but likely for appearances. His social media was filled with filtered photos and captions like “Proud to be your dad forever”—even though the last photo was from when Emma was six. She’s nine now.
I agreed to the visit. Not for him, but because I had a quiet plan—and something he didn’t know.
When I told Emma, her eyes lit up with cautious hope. She pulled a card from her backpack, half-finished and covered in soft crayon hearts.
“We started these in class,” she said quietly. “But I didn’t know what to write. I don’t even know if I have a dad anymore.”
“You don’t have to finish it,” I said.
She paused, then smiled. “No… I think I know exactly what to say.”
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