The first time Lucas called me Dad, it was an accident, and it was perfect because it was an accident.

We were building a plastic model airplane at the living room table, the three of us, and a tiny plastic wheel dropped off the edge and onto the rug.

“Dad, can you pass me that wheel?” Lucas said, without thinking, without weighing it, the word just falling out of him as naturally as breathing.

All three of us went still.

Lucas turned bright red as he realized what he had said, his eyes flicking up to me, uncertain.

I did not make a scene of it.