He painstakingly learned that she hated peas but tolerated carrots, that she needed her left foot outside the blanket to avoid nightmares, that she asked rapid-fire questions whenever she felt anxious.

Three months after the wedding, Lily’s school hosted a “Family Breakfast” in the gym. She enthusiastically invited me. Then, after chewing on her pencil for twenty minutes, she carefully wrote out a second invitation for Grandpa Robert.

Amid the smell of industrial pancakes and spilling juice boxes, Lily proudly introduced us to her homeroom teacher.

“This is my dad, Caleb,” she announced, gripping my hand. “And this is my grandpa. He missed the wedding because he made a mistake, but he’s doing much better now.”

My father’s ears burned a spectacular shade of crimson.

The teacher smiled, amused but kind. “That’s wonderful to hear, Lily.”