Trent’s world came crashing down when he discovered a cryptic note in his nine-year-old daughter’s backpack: “I’m your real dad, come and see me.” His gut churned with suspicion, but nothing could have prepared him for the disturbing truth that lay ahead.
It was a quiet morning, the kind that usually brought a sense of peace and routine to Trent. The sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, bathing everything in a soft glow. He stood at the sink, staring blankly at his half-full coffee cup. Normally, mornings like this were filled with warmth and contentment—his daughter, Lily, upstairs getting ready for school, always chatting excitedly about her dreams or the latest school drama. But lately, that joy seemed to vanish.
Something was off, and it gnawed at him.
Lily was no longer the bubbly child who charged down the stairs every morning, hair wild, filled with endless stories. Now, her footsteps were slow, and her words were scarce.
“Lily,” Trent called, hoping to break through the growing distance between them. “Want some pancakes before school?”
“Not hungry,” came her muted reply from the top of the stairs.
Her cold tone sent a shiver through him. This wasn’t his Lily. As she descended the stairs, Trent tried to catch her eye. “Hey, kiddo, what’s going on? You’ve been kind of quiet lately.”
She shrugged without looking at him. “Nothing.”
Frustration bubbled up, but so did worry. She was shutting him out, and he didn’t know why. She grabbed her backpack, ready to leave, her movements brisk and detached.
“Lily, wait.” His voice trembled slightly. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything.”
For a moment, her hand hovered on the doorknob. Trent’s heart leapt—maybe she’d finally open up. But she stiffened instead, gave a hollow nod, and left without another word.
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