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When Father’s Day arrived, my wife left for a photo shoot she’d scheduled weeks in advance. Lily and I stayed home and made dinner. She insisted we decorate with sunflowers, picking them from the garden and stuffing them into a vase that wobbled like a newborn fawn.
I hummed as I stirred the dough, blissfully unaware that I had completely changed the course of our week. The house felt warm, but beneath my steady hands, every part of me braced itself for answers.
