Father’s Day had always been a day of simple joy for me—early morning cartoons, sticky syrup on pancakes, and handmade cards hanging crookedly on the fridge. I expected this year to feel just as familiar, but instead, the day became a turning point I never saw coming. On the drive home from the park, my five-year-old daughter, Lily, shifted from talking about clouds and fairy houses to sharing details that didn’t match the normal rhythm of our household.