It wasn’t the court date.

Or the paperwork.

Or the moment someone called me “Dad.”

It was when he reached for my hand in public.

Not because he had to — but because he wanted to.

That was it.

That moment cracked something open in me.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t public.

But it was real.

I realized then that being a father isn’t about biology.

It’s about being chosen — sometimes silently — by a child who has every reason not to trust you.

That’s when it hit me:

This is what God does for us.

He shows up again and again…

Until, one day, we reach back.