Temporary… Until It Wasn’t
He filed the report at sunrise.
Called social services.
Documented the note.
Did everything by the book.
Days passed.
Weeks passed.
No one came forward.
No one was “looking for her.”
At first she would only say one thing:
“Lily.”
Daniel told himself it was temporary.
Just until a foster placement opened up.
But then came the preschool paperwork.
The pediatric appointments.
The nightmares.
The first time she whispered “Officer Dad” like she didn’t know if she was allowed to need him.
And then, one year later, Daniel signed the adoption papers.
Lily became his daughter — in law, in name, and in the only way that mattered: in the way he showed up.
He learned to braid hair by watching videos at 5 a.m.
“You’re doing it wrong,” she’d giggle.
“Lil, I’m trained on handcuffs, not hair ties.”
“Then learn,” she’d say, stubborn. “All the other dads know.”
Eventually “Officer Dad” became just Dad.
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