Then she was close enough for me to read it.

The sign said: “Today my mommy gets a husband. And I get the daddy I prayed for.”

My knees nearly buckled against the polished floor.

Lily stopped squarely in front of me, lowered the heavy board to the ground, and tilted her chin up. Her big, expressive eyes searched my face. “Can I call you Dad after this?”

she whispered, her voice trembling just slightly, betraying the vulnerability beneath her brave march.

I forgot the carefully planned schedule. I forgot the hired videographers, the staring guests, the hollow empty pew on my right. I dropped into a deep crouch, heedless of the tailored tuxedo, and pulled her small frame into my arms, burying my face in her curls.